


Good Influence

by nerbert



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Skating, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Family Shenanigans, Homophobic Language, Kinda, Misunderstandings, Past Abuse, Slow Burn, Useless Lesbians, Widowed, figure skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-04-07 06:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerbert/pseuds/nerbert
Summary: Brienne Tarth is about as tough as hockey players come Not just as the only woman to ever play in men's leagues, but as one of the toughest enforcers in the history of the sport. So how does she find herself in Winterfell, coaching a girl's youth team and fending off the force of nature that is one Catelyn Stark?Cat is a very busy woman. As much as she loves her family, they never keep her life boring. Between Robb and Jon at college, Sansa preparing for graduation, Bran's growing need for independence, and Rickon being Rickon there's never a dull moment. Then there's the whole ordeal of Arya's new hockey coach. Honestly where did they hire her?This is the story of the Starks' rink side drama.





	1. New Girl

Sansa stops mid-stride and lets her bag slip further down her shoulder.

 

"Who is that?" Sansa blinks.

 

Jeyne follows her eyeline towards the lone figure twirling at centre ice. The girl in a silver leotard and tight, grey pants pulls out of a tight camel spin and takes a half lap around the far side of the rink. She ducks for a moment, chest heaving before snapping a pearly white smile towards a woman leaning on the boards. The woman calls out, but her words do not carry far enough to reach were Sansa and her friends stand. She recognises the voice, Ms Mordane.

 

"Must be the new girl." Jeyne shrugs.

 

"Didn't know there was one." Sansa keeps walking towards the stands, catching in the corner of her eye as the new girl flicks her long mane of hair over her shoulder. Even in a high pony tail, the brown curls reach her back. It surprises Sansa, whose hair is of a similar length and best put out of the way in a tight bun.

 

Myranda is waiting for them in the stands, using a seat to stretch out her hamstrings. She waves to them before switching legs and reaching out to touch the blade covers on her skates.

 

"New girl, huh?" She half laughs when they near her, pulling out an ear pod blasting her pump-up playlist.

 

"Who is she?" Sansa asks dumping her bag down on the next seat over and beginning to stretch too.

 

"No idea haven't seen her around before."

 

"A transfer?" Jeyne wonders.

 

"Must be. She looks pretty good." Myranda watches Sansa turn around to watch. The girl is old enough to be in their class, but it seems odd for her to be training alone. Maybe Mordane wanted to evaluate her first, or maybe the girl wanted to show off in front of her new classmates. When the girl skates towards their side of the rink and lands a solid single axel, Sansa must admit she's good, show-off or not.

 

"Good." Mordane calls out and the new girl skates back to her, not once sending a look in their direction. Sansa pays it no mind, finishes her warm up and pulls off her skate guards. Their class begins now anyway.

 

She walks over the door where Mordane is waiting for them, extra careful not to wobble on her skates. It might be the first lesson back from the summer break, but Sansa doesn't want to appear like she's been slacking.

 

"Hello girls!" Mordane tucks her hands into the pants of her velvet tracksuit. "Good to see you all on time for your first day back."

 

"Did you have a relaxing summer Ms Mordane?" Sansa smiles.

 

"Ha! No rest for the wicked dear Sansa, and I hope you all stuck to your summer training schedules." Mordane says sternly. Myranda groans.

 

On the other side of the boards the new girl is waiting, quietly. Sansa meets her eyes for a second, she smiles before Sansa looks away. Up close she is even more beautiful. Tan, unblemished skin and sparkling dark brown eyes. She looks as if she'd spent the last month on a Dornish beach, but Sansa knew a push-over when she saw one. Anyone who could skate like that didn't get there without hours a day practicing on ice.

 

"Ladies, we have a new student with us this year. Margaery would you like to introduce yourself?"

 

"Hi, I'm Margaery. Oh, you already know my name." The girl giggles bashfully. "I'm from High Garden but I just transferred here to join Winterfell's program, it's the best in Westeros."

 

 "Well, we like to challenge our students to be the best they can." Mordane nods approvingly. "I'm sure you'll fit in well with this class. Right girls?"

 

Jeyne, Sansa, and Myranda all nod along.

 

"Excellent, we've got a long season ahead of us girls, let's get into the hard work." Mordane claps and ushers them all onto the ice. Once their lesson is underway, there isn't much time for chatter. Mordane is hell bent on testing their strength and conditioning by having them skate gruelling laps between drills. By the end of the lesson they're just about dead on their feet. Sansa can feel her face must be beet red by now, but she looks over at Margaery to see the girl only wipe at a thin sheen of sweat on her brow. Sansa resists the urge to roll her eyes.

 

Sansa huddles with Jeyne and Myranda on the bench afterwards as they change out of their skates. Margaery's bag is a little further down the bench, but not quite out of earshot. Sansa watches the girl change quickly, not looking keen on hanging around. Between unlacing her skates, she pulls her phone from her bag and sends a couple of quick text messages. She packs away her bag and slips into a black adidas jacket.

 

Before Sansa has one skate off, she is already walking past them.

 

"Sorry, my brother is waiting in the car. It was really nice meeting you all, I'll see you on Tuesday." Margaery flashes them one last perfect smile before leaving through the café entrance.

 

"So," Sansa says, watching the small bouncing figure retreat. "What do you guys think?"

 

"She can skate." Myranda huffs, brushing her fringe from her eyes.

 

"Did you see that axel?" Jeyne sighs. She didn't know much about figure skating in the Reach, and she'd never seen this girl in the under sixteen competitions in the North. No doubt she'd be some serious competition.

 

"Yeah." Sansa feels like a fire has been lit under her. She may have won the last two metro-north division titles, but they were in the under eighteens category now. Between the higher age and the added pressure of their final year of school, Sansa knew her work was cut out for her this year. It was more than that though. "But what do you guys think of her?"

 

Myranda shrugs.

 

 "She seems nice I guess. Kind of cocky maybe." Jeyne hums.

 

"How is she just transferring here now? Seems kind of weird if you ask me."

 

"Family has gotta be rich."

 

"In a leotard like that? She must be loaded."

 

"Do you think she's enrolled at GA?" Sansa asks. Godswood Academy was the best private school in Winterfell, all three of them went there, as had all the Stark family.

 

"She a southerner, she'll probably want to go to one that worships the Seven." Jeyne says.

 

"My family is all southern," Myranda points out. Well, as much as the Vale was considered southern compared to the rest of Westeros.

 

"I'll guess we'll just wait and see."

 

"We could ask her next time." Sansa says, both girls look surprised having not thought of that.

 

The three leave together, having turned the conversation away from Margaery to the mention of her brother.

 

"I wonder how old he is." Jeyne giggles and Sansa rolls her eyes.

 

"All I'm saying is that bone structure like that must run in the family." Myranda adds.

 

"You're both so pathetic."

 

"Don't act like you're much better. We know your type, Sans. There's like a seventy percent chance he's hot and you're just as pathetic as us." Myranda laughs.

 

Sansa imagines for a moment a boyish version of Margaery. The same dark eyes and curly hair, but perhaps taller with a bit more muscle on him. Would he have the same disarming smile that his sister did?

 

"Yeah right." Sansa lies and pushes the heavy door out to the carpark. She scans the mostly empty carpark for a moment before she spots a silver station wagon in the corner. Just as she sees it, the car honks twice and a hand waves out the driver's side window. Sansa flushes, yes, she had already found it. Her mother can be so embarrassing at times.

 

"I'll see you guys later." Sansa says a quick goodbye and rushes to the car. It's late in summer but the cool change to the air had already begun. Sansa hops into the front seat and dumps her bag on the backseat before leaning in to give her mum a kiss on the cheek.

 

"How was practice?" Cat asks as she puts the car into gear.

 

"We have a new girl in the class." Sansa leans over the dashboard to turn the heat up.

 

"What's she like?"

 

"Not sure yet." Is all Sansa says as she then turns the radio station over from the tragic golden-oldies Cat had been listening while she waited.

 

On the way out the carpark, Cat overtakes a powder blue SUV driving in. She pays it no mind, instead chastising her daughter for putting the seat warmers on in late August.

 

 

The Blue SUV parks close to the door, out of the driver's seat steps a tall woman in jeans and dusty jacket. She pulls a knitted toque over her short blonde hair and rushes inside, already late for her first day on the job. She wouldn't have been late if Jaime hadn't lost her keys, but that's another story. She rushes pass the admission box and pass the café, towards the staff entrance. Double checking she's going the right way, she dashes towards the staff lunch room where half a dozen people are already seated around a battered wooden table. In the corner, someone has wheeled in a whiteboard.

 

"Tarth, glad you made it."  Rodrik Cassel says as she enters.

 

"Sorry I'm late." She ducks her head, trying and failing to hide herself from view of the rest of the table. She takes the seat furthest away from Cassel and busies herself pouring coffee into a Styrofoam cup.

 

"No sweat, you're not officially on the clock today." Cassel nods, continuing to hand out the paper leaflets. Brienne takes one and flicks through the first few pages. There's a short blurb on the front before it gets into the itinerary and safety forms. Thankfully, Brienne still has her blue card from her other job. In hindsight she hadn't expected so much formality for a simple coaching job, but Winterfell took ice hockey seriously. In hindsight she should have seen it all coming.

 

Evenfall had been much less of a grandiose affair. She got paid in cash in a manila envelope every Friday she was there. She assisted coaching on a few local teams, helped run drills and stepped in whenever someone more experienced was out sick. There was only one rink on an island as small as that, so demand for her skillset wasn't exactly high. Things were a little better in Storm's End, but only when she managed to get people to take her seriously.

 

For the little she knew of the North so far, it hadn't been hard for her to be taken seriously. Perhaps it was a general level of respect, or maybe her reputation was enough at this point for people to stay the hell out of her way. Sure, perhaps riding the coat tails of a Lannister had its benefits too.

 

She flipped to the fourth page in the coaching guide, that had the name and contact info of everyone on staff. She scanned down the list of names until she saw her own, just checking she hadn't been forgotten. It had happened before. Her name was there towards the end of the page running last name alphabetical.

 

_Tarth, Brienne.  Coaching Girls Under 14's. Contact by phone on..._

 

Brienne blinked. She reread the line again searching for some kind of mistake.

 

"You right there, Brienne?"

 

Brienne looked up, slightly frazzled. Cassel was looking at her.

 

"You want me coaching Under 14's?"

 

"Yes, well, we thought with your set of skills it might suit you better there."

 

_My set of skills?_ Brienne wonders, before it sinks in. She looks around the table, the rest of the coaching staff is entirely male.

 

"I wasn't aware there was a girls’ Under 14's"

 

"It's a new addition to the club." Cassel sighs looking off in the distance for a moment. "Let's just say it was in very high demand."

 

Brienne says nothing else but downs the rest of her coffee. Sure, she's a woman so she _must_ be the one qualified to coach a bunch of teenage girls. She wonders if Cassel, or anyone else in this room, is exactly aware of her skillset. Never mind the fact the last and only time she was on a team with another woman was over a decade ago. There were no girls’ teams growing up in the Stormlands. She hadn't the faintest idea what to say to a thirteen-year-old girl, let alone what the rules of that division would be.

 

Cassel goes over the forms and paraphernalia they need to sign for the rest of the meeting, Brienne sits back quietly until it’s over. Once most of the staff has left, she pours herself and Cassel another coffee and sits him down.

 

"I thought you might have some questions." He says.

 

"Yes, well," Brienne flounders unsure where to begin.

 

"I know, it's not ideal but you're not as underqualified as you think. It's basically another youth league with no body checking. All you do is run your shooting and passing drills and hand out orange slices at the end of the period."

 

"That's not really my problem here."

 

"I think you're over thinking this."

 

"Did you really hire me because I'm a woman?"

 

"Well, was it wrong of me to do that?"

 

Brienne huffs.

 

"I thought it might be nice, you know," Cassel slumps back in his seat. "The kids might actually look up to you."

 

"My story isn't inspiring."

 

"Isn't it?"

 

"I'm a goon! In the North's premiere goon league! You mean to tell me parents won't be calling you up when they here you hired an enforcer to teach their daughters?"

 

"Now, goon is a little harsh."

 

Brienne scoffs and is almost tempted to look up her penalty minutes from last season.

 

"Alright, fine." Cassel shakes his head. "Give it a couple of weeks and if it doesn't work I'll put you with one of the senior teams. But you have to promise me to give this a shot."

 

"Fine." Brienne rolls her eyes, already predicting the disaster that is about to unfold.

 

There's a moment there when Cassel shake's Brienne's hand that he wishes Clegane wasn't retiring. But if there was someone who might have a chance at wrangling a team Arya Stark is on, it might as well be Brienne Fucking Tarth.

 

 


	2. Zamboni Grease

Arya watches the coach who is very much not Sandor Clegane stand behind the bench hiding her face in a clipboard. For starters, this one is taller. Arya makes a bee-line towards her and tries to stand as tall as she can in skates and hockey pads.

 

"Where is the Hound?" She asks. The coach looks over his clipboard at her.

 

"Clegane? He's on leave. I'll be coaching the team this year." She says, deep blue eyes focused on the top of Arya's helmet. Even with it on it doesn't reach her chest. Arya has never seen a woman so tall before.

 

"Do you know where he went?" Arya frowns. The Hound hadn't mentioned anything about him going on vacation. He never seemed to be the type to relax in a resort somewhere. Even if he's hiding away in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere, Arya is mentally composing a strongly worded letter to send him.

 

"No."

 

Arya huffs.

 

The new coach adjusts the cap on her head and steps out onto the ice, sliding in her rubber soled boots. She calls the rest of the team over for a huddle and introduces herself as Brienne Tarth. Arya hasn't heard anyone called Tarth in Winterfell before. She wonders where Cassel found her.

 

"So, this is the first time the Dire Wolves have had girls play at the youth level." Brienne says in a slow rehearsed tone. Arya can tell she is nervous. "I hope we can all learn to come together as a team."

 

Not the most inspiring pep talk, but none of them dwelled on it as Brienne split them up into groups to practice passing drills. It gives Arya time so size up the rest of the team. Most of them are from the surrounding area, but Winterfell is a big city. None of them are from her school, but she might have known them if she was social like her sister. Sansa seemed to know and be liked by so many people, while Arya had always kept to herself. It wasn't that she was unlikeable, she just thought herself an acquired taste.  Making friends was harder now that Jon was off at university. She had made a few since Jon left last year, but all of them were boys on different teams. It wasn't like she meant not to have any friends that were girls, but sometimes she felt like they avoided her. Even now, on an entire team of girls her age Arya felt like a stranger.

 

_Isn't this what you wanted?_ Arya asks herself. _A chance to prove yourself?_ Right now, all she wants was to be with Gendry, Hot Pie and Lommy. Looking up at her coach, it seems like she wishes to be elsewhere too.

 

It's a thankfully short practice, only meant to evaluate their skill level before their first game in a few weeks. Arya feels no doubt about her skill level. She's better than all the boys her age, a girls’ team is hardly a challenge at all.

 

She waits around afterwards, stomping up and down the stands while she waits for her mother to pick her up. Bran has an appointment and Sansa has her own training session now. She told them she didn't mind waiting. She wanders around towards the back of the rink where the Zamboni shed is tucked away in the corner. Sometimes when Cat couldn't pick her up right away Arya would hide out here and people watch. However, as she peaks through the doorway she sees that her secret hide-out is already occupied.

 

It's Brienne, hunched over a Zamboni elbow deep in thick, black, grease. Before Arya can turn and make a hasty retreat, Brienne turns around to spot her.

 

"Um, Arya is it?" She fumbles for a moment recalling her new student's name. "What are you doing back here?"

 

"Nothing."

 

Brienne cocks an eyebrow.

 

"Sometimes I hide out here while my sister is training. Cassel doesn't mind."

 

"Your sister plays too?" Brienne steps away from the Zamboni and wipes her hands off with a towel. Unfortunately, the grease doesn't seem to budge.

 

"She's a figure skater." Arya tries hard not to scrunch up her nose. "That one over there in the blue top."

 

Brienne looks out the door and see the girl Arya mentions. She's a tall slender figure, even from a distance Brienne can tell the two look nothing alike. Her skin is paler than Arya and her hair a shining red in stark comparison to Arya's dark brown. It's hard to tell but the girl is a few years older.

 

"She looks like she skates well."

 

"I guess. She wins a lot." Arya shoves her hands in her in her pockets. "So, have you coached many girl’s hockey teams before?"

 

"This is my first time. Could you tell?"

 

Arya shrugs.

 

"How do you think it went?" Brienne asks suddenly nervous over the opinion of a 14-year-old.

 

"Okay. Are we going to be playing against other girls’ teams?"

 

"From what I've heard there's enough teams for a Winterfell league."

 

"Do we play for a championship?"

 

"I'd say so."

 

"Good. I want to win." Arya's face creases into a determined frown. "We lost the championship game last year."

 

"Same here."

 

"You still play?"

 

"Yeah." She feels her face flush as Arya's surprise.

 

"So, did you come up here to play on the She-Wolves then?"

 

"No, actually." Brienne says with a small smile. The She-Wolves were the only professional woman's team in the North. The Westeros Women's Hockey League was only six years old and had five teams: the Harrenhal Phantoms, Blackwater Sirens, Vale Harpies, Dorne Sandsnakes, and the Winterfell She-Wolves. By the time the league had been founded Brienne had been playing the men's game for a long time. "I'm playing for the Oathkeepers."

 

"You're in _the_ Oathkeepers?" Arya's jaw drops. It's not the first time she's gotten that reaction before.

 

The Oathkeepers were one of ten semi-professional teams in the Northern Major Hockey League. It wasn't a league known for skilled players, or even players who particularly cared about the sanctity of the sport. It is jokingly referred to as the Goon League, but the truth isn't far off. The NMHL is the toughest league in Westeros, hard hits and fist fights are an every game occurrence. Brienne Tarth is the first woman to ever play in such a league.

 

"I didn't know women could play there."

 

"They weren't really meant to let me in, but they made an exception." When you're 6'4" and 200 pounds, they tend to look past your gender. It had taken a long time for teams before now to take her seriously, but when she dropped the gloves enough times she earned their respect. She'd played for various teams around Westeros but now she was playing in the North for the first time.

 

"Wow. Do you beat people up?" Arya quiet and closed off attitude is long gone. She looks up at Brienne in awe, hanging on her every word. Brienne finds herself a little flustered.

 

"Sometimes." She tries to sound cool.

 

"Can you teach me how to fight?"

 

Brienne laughs, but Arya is serious. Before she can think of a way to shoot down that question, a woman's voice calls out from outside the shed.

 

"Arya! Where are you?"

 

The girl in question sighs and hunches over again. A woman appears in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. She's short but holds herself high. Her red hair is stained with grey and tied back in a low braid. Her face is beautiful even with the creases in the corners of her eyes. Brienne grabs the towel again and hurriedly tries to wipe away the rest of the grease on her hands and clothes.

 

"Arya." She huffs, slightly out of breath. "Cassel told you to stop sneaking into the shed."

 

"Mum," Arya whines.

 

"It's alright, I let her in." Brienne says, deciding not to bring up the girl's white lie from earlier.

 

The woman turns to look her up and down, but not unkindly. She cocks her head to the side for a moment as if she is trying to recall her face.

 

"I'm Brienne Tarth, Arya's coach." She brings her hand out for a handshake before she remembers the state she's in right now and whips her arm back down to her side.

 

"Cat Stark." She says amused, dimples poking at the corners of her cheeks. She steels herself quickly and turns her attention back to her daughter. "Come on, Sansa's finished now."

 

Arya groans, but follows her mother out of the shed.

 

"Bye Brienne."

 

"See you next week. It's was nice meeting you Mrs Stark."

 

"You too. Have a good night." Cat smiles again to her on the way out.

 

Alone at last, Brienne returns to the task of the Zamboni engine before her. She promised Cassel she'd get it up and running by the end of the night.

 

"How was practice, Arya?" Cat asks on the drive home.

 

"Kinda boring when you're already the best on the team. Where's the challenge in that?"

 

"Wow, modest much." Bran scoffs, not looking up from his Nintendo.

 

"Just saying, it would be way more of a challenge if I was back on the boy's team."

 

"That's not happening."

 

"Why not?"

 

"You know why." Cat says, firmly ending the conversation.

 

Arya is silent the rest of the way home and entertains herself by kicking the front passenger seat where Sansa sits.

 

"Arya, I will strangle you in your sleep." Sansa snaps, which only eggs Arya on more. It's moments like this Cat wishes for Ned's patience, or just his ability to threaten to make them walk home instead.

 

 

 

 

Later that night Cat is staring at her journal planner and glaring at the words 'BEGINNING OF TERM' underlined in red ink for two weeks’ time. How has summer gone so quickly? Robb and Jon will be back at university so soon and they won't have time to visit again until winter break. She has to organise one last family meal before they leave. She pulls out her phone and sends out a group message.

 

**_Stark Fam GC_ **

 

_Cat: Alright everyone, family lunch this Sunday. Attendance is mandatory. I want to see you all together one last time before the school year starts. Jon and Robb, your girlfriends are welcome too._

 

_The Absolute Mad Lad: Why don't I get a plus one?_

 

_Cat: Not after last time._

 

Cat shakes her head, remembering the time a still drunk Theon had brought his hook up from the night before to a family lunch. It wouldn't have been a complete disaster if Theon hadn't forgotten her name before introducing her to Cat.

 

_Sansa: Who let Theon change his name again?_

 

_No one: no idea_

 

_Sansa: Hilarious, Arya._

 

_Jon: It's ok mum, Ygritte can't make it_

 

_The Absolute Mad Lad: yeah because she dumped him_

 

_Sansa: What!!!! When????_

 

_Rickon: lol_

 

_Raisin Bran: sucks bro :(_

 

_Jon: the fuck Theon_

 

_Cat: No swearing, boys._

 

_No one: yeah watch your fucking language Jon_

 

_Cat: Arya._

 

_The Absolute Mad Lad: lol_

 

_Robb: Hey guys, Jeyne said she'd love to come. Sorry about Ygritte, Jon :(_

 

_Sansa: Seriously tho what happened??_

 

_Jon: OK first of all she didn't dump me we both decided to take a break._

 

_No one: Yikes._

 

_Raisin Bran: press f to pay respects_

 

_Rickon: f_

 

_The Absolute Mad Lad: f_

 

_Jon: ???_

 

_Cat: what does that mean?_

 

_Sansa: I think its some stupid meme_

 

_Rickon: It's not stupid_

 

_Raisin Bran: yeah its pretty stupid_

 

_*The Absolute Mad Lad has changed his display name to Single, But Not As Single As Jon*_

 

_Jon: This is cyber bullying_

 

_No one: say the word and I'll kick him from the chat_

 

_Single, But Not As Single As Jon: You'd abandon your own foster brother? I'm calling child protective services_

 

_Sansa: Theon, you're 21_

 

_No one: Bold of you to assume he ever grew up._

 

_Can: No one is getting kicked out. Theon, change your name._

 

_No one: Wow, pretty harsh there mum_

 

_Rickon: loooooool_

 

_Cat: Ugh you know what I meant!_

 

_*Single, But Not As Single As Jon has changed his display name to The Kraken*_

 

_Sansa: I'm not even going to ask._

 

 Cat puts her phone back down on her desk and shakes her head. As distracting as Theon’s antics are, she can’t help but worry about Jon. For as tough as he appears to be, she knows how sensitive Jon is. Breakups are never easy, but she remembers being that age and it feels like the end of the world. He had been so keen on Ygritte but in the limited time Cat had known the girl, she never seemed the type to stay in one place long. As restless and fiery as she was beautiful, Cat should have known that it couldn’t end well. Jon was a kind and handsome young man (if he ever got a haircut). There would be plenty more fish in the sea for him.

 

She was happy to see Jeyne would be coming. While Jon had always been a little unlucky in love, Robb entirely the opposite. Cat knew he’d always break hearts, but she never expected him to settle down at such a young age. She couldn’t see him getting married this early, but he and Jeyne had been steady for years now. Jeyne was a good match for him. While Robb studies business and law, Jeyne is studying to be a doctor. Cat has no idea how they find the time for a date night.

 

And then there was Theon. Cat loved Theon as much as her children (and nephew in Jon), but she never stopped worrying about that boy. Ned had taken the boy under his wing when his family situation became dire, but at eight years old he was still as much Greyjoy as he was a Stark. He sees his biological family sparingly, the only one he has close contact with is his sister Asha. Asha still lives in the Iron Islands and Theon bounces between there, Winterfell and wherever else doing any odd jobs he can find. He insists he’s a certified mechanic, and as long as he claims to have a career path Cat does her best to just let him be. Theon, like the rest of the family, had a rough time after Ned’s death.

 

Even after five years, Cat still misses him terribly. Raising seven children on her own had been a struggle, but she can’t help but be proud of her family. Each faced adversity and grew into better people because of it. Some days Cat doesn’t feel like a complete failure.

 

Looking down at her wrist watch she sees that its almost half-eight. Rickon should be going to bed. She clears her writing desk for the day and finds him down in the den with Bran. Ever since Bran’s injury, they renovated Ned’s old study into a living space for him. It’s practically a mini granny flat, with a TV area, bedroom and en suite bathroom. It’s all on the bottom floor of the house so Bran can go as he wishes without having to use the elevator. Most of the time the kids are downstairs with him. Cat sometimes worries if Bran gets lonely down here, but he always insists he likes the privacy. When he has Summer by his side, he’s never truly alone.

 

Bran is sitting with Summer’s head rested in his lap, next to Rickon on the couch. They’re playing a shooting videogame Cat is certain she doesn’t approve of. Shaggy Dog is nowhere to be seen, likely already put outside for the night to sleep in his kennel. Despite their many pleads over the years, Summer is the only pet allowed to sleep inside, seeing as he’s trained as Bran’s assistance dog. If the others want their pet sleeping inside, they can vacuum all the excess fur in the house too. So far no one has been too keen on taking up that offer.

 

“Alright boys, time for bed.” She says.

 

“But mum! It’s the holidays!” Bran pouts.

 

“It’s getting late.”

 

“I’m not tired.” Rickon crosses his arms as defiantly as a ten year old can.

 

“Too bad mister. Rickon, bed.”

 

In true Stark fashion, Rickon stands up and stomps all the way back up to his room.

 

“You too, Bran.”

 

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Bran grumbles, dropping his videogame controller onto the couch pillow beside him.

 

“I know,” Cat says, feeling a little guilty. It’s been a struggle now with Bran becoming a teenager. Perhaps Cat has become overbearing at times, but she feels so protective of him. “How about you just lie in bed a while. You don’t have to sleep yet, you can go one your laptop or something until ten.”

 

“Eleven.”

 

“Ten thirty.”

 

“Deal.” Bran smiles and nudges Summer awake.

 

“Do you need any help?”

 

“No Mum, I’ve got this.” Bran says and wheels over to the TV stand to turn the console off. “Good night, Mum”

 

“Sweet dreams, Bran.”

 

Cat goes back upstairs, knocking on Arya’s door on the way.

 

“Lights out at ten thirty.” She calls out, ignoring Arya’s groans.

 

Raising seven children has taught Cat a valuable lesson on when to compromise and when to stand your ground, which is why Cat stays up until eleven to catch Arya attempting to sneak Nymeria into her bed, her third unsuccessful attempt in as many nights.

 

“You’re not a ninja.” Cat laughs at her.

 

“Not yet.” Arya grumbles and puts Nymeria back outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the NMHL is based off the Ligue Nord-Americaine de Hockey, a Quebec based league that is famous for being pretty rough and tumble. Back in 2010 they averaged about 3 fights a game. Brienne is tough and likes to scrap, but we'll be getting into her motivation for moving teams soon enough.


	3. The Golden Boy

By the time Brienne gets home, Jaime is half asleep on the couch.

 

“You’re going to fuck up your back.” She says and throws a pillow at him. Jaime lurches forward, missing her shot by an inch. She wonders if he got up off the couch at all today.

 

“My back is already fucked up.” Jaime says, lying back down. She’s been home all of 30 seconds and Jaime is already complaining about his constant injury woes. It had been constant during their move into the apartment. Brienne did most of the heavy lifting and Jaime didn’t like her telling the truth.

 

“There’s chicken in the fridge.”

 

Well, at least she doesn’t have to worry about dinner. She dumps her wallet and keys on the counter and opens the fridge. They’d moved into the apartment a week ago and hadn’t properly gone to the grocery store yet. Brienne looks down at the lone Tupperware container surrounded by beer cans and various condiments. Inside is a grilled chicken breast on a bed of brown rice. After all these years living alone and Jaime has yet to learn to cook proper food. In his defence, Brienne isn’t much better either. Most nights if Brienne isn’t at work they order takeout.

 

“Did you actually do anything today?”

 

“Prepared for practice tomorrow, took a phone interview, cooked for your ungrateful arse.”

 

“You had an interview?” Brienne blinks, surprised that reporters swarmed before the season has even started. 

 

“Just for my brother’s podcast, apparently I’m a fan favourite.” Jaime smirks. “You know if you’re ever interested on going on the show,”

 

“No. Definitely not.” She shakes her head.

 

“Come on, you like Tyrion!”

 

“Not enough to do that.” Brienne isn’t about to make a fool of herself on the internet. Jaime is welcome to take on that challenge. She still remembers that video of him from a couple of years back when he broke his skate blade and crawled around on the ice for a full minute before he made it back to the bench.

 

If she remembers correctly, Tyrion’s twitter account had been responsible for that footage circling as wide as it did. It was no surprise Jaime was a regular on his podcast. Around his brother, Jaime was instantly more likeable. Tyrion brought out the best of him, if he stayed near his brother he could have a promising career in sports journalism. That is if he is ever forced to retire.

 

“Fine, be boring.” Jaime grumbles, fiddling with the TV remote with his good hand. Brienne knows better than to bring up that injury.

 

Jaime Lannister had been the star of the Westeros Hockey League before one unlucky hit broke his wrist and damaged his radial nerve. Even after a year of physical therapy the strength in his right hand was still weakened. The Lannisport team he’d captained for ten years no longer needed a thirty-something liability on the roster, but Jaime refused to let his career die. He signed with the first minor league team that would take him. It was on the Brindlewood Thorns that Brienne first met Jaime Lannister. They were both new recruits on the team but were too old to be treated as rookies. The rest of the team had kept them both at a distance, Brienne for her gender and Jaime for his fierce reputation. Brienne hadn’t been keen on him either at first. He walked with an undeniable swagger, and his head held high that dared anyone to challenge him. Everyone else on the team had to battle it out to make a living playing hockey while Jaime Lannister strolled in with millions in his bank account. Even with the injury he was better than most on the team, a fact that made him easy to resent.

 

Some of them resented Brienne too, for wasting a valuable roster spot on a woman. Like always, it was only after she started cracking skulls that she earned their respect. Her role was to protect her team mates, even if one was a Lannister with a walking target on his back. His handsome face and long golden hair made him look very punch-able. He’d cut his hair short now, but his sharp features and bright green eyes were unrelenting. Somehow, she made a career over the last two years fighting people who tried to fuck with Jaime Lannister. Along the way she learnt to tolerate his abrasive personality as well.

 

“How was coaching?” Jaime asked after dinner when Brienne sets out on stacking the dishwasher.

 

“I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

“Come on, they’re kids. How hard can it be?”

 

“You do it then.” Brienne huffs. Kids can be so judgemental, the last thing she wants is them complaining to their parents about how shit their new coach is. She wonders what the record is for fastest firing.

 

“They can’t afford me.” Jaime smirks. He’s gloating a lot for someone now playing for next to nothing. Brienne has her coaching job and works part time at a night club while the golden boy kicks his feet up. Even if he was flat broke, Jaime’s father owns a law firm. The Lannister family is as rich as it is terribly good looking. Jaime would never be stuck in a situation resembling perilous.

 

Brienne knows she’s being unfair. With Jaime’s injury it’s not like he’d be able to work much. The fact he’s still playing hockey another year is a testament to how little the NMHL gives a shit about player safety. For all she complains about Jaime, he really is a good friend. He’s never hesitated to stand up for her, even when she doesn’t need or want him to.

 

“But I am totally willing to hand out orange slices on game day.”

 

“You just want the free publicity.”

 

“How dare you, I care deeply about raising awareness about vitamin C deficiency.”

 

“I think that’s just called scurvy.”

 

“Seriously, why are you so worried about what those girls think of you?”

 

Brienne shrugs.

 

“You’re the toughest enforcer in Westeros, if that doesn’t impress them then fuck it.”

 

“One of them seemed impressed.” Brienne recalls the awe on the Stark girl’s face.

 

“See? It’s not a complete lost cause.”

 

Brienne leaves it at that but in her mind, she still has doubts. It takes more than one player to make a winning team. She’ll need to win them over somehow. If only Brienne wasn’t as charismatic as a dish clothe. Jaime had told her so on numerous occasions.

 

 

 

 

Sansa has another group class, and this time she decides to show up early. Mordane isn’t even there yet, so she waits in the stands and starts stretching. Ten minutes before class, Margaery Tyrell arrives.

 

“Hey, Sansa right?” She greets.

 

“Hi, yeah.” Sansa nods, moving over to give Margaery a seat. She gratefully takes the unspoken offer and sits down next to her. Margaery is wearing a new top today, gold this time with black tights.

 

“I love your hair, did you do it yourself?” Margaery’s bright brown eyes trace the twisted braid that tucks up into a bun.

 

“Thanks.” Sansa flushes, deciding it would be a little too embarrassing to say her mum did it for her.

 

“You must have the coolest hairstyles at comps, and it’s such a pretty colour too!”

 

“I don’t like to do anything too fancy,” Sansa ignores the last half of the sentence, unsure how to respond to that compliment without blushing like an idiot. Something about the way Margaery looks at her makes her painfully aware of herself. “The last thing I want is for it to fall out.”

 

“Oh Gods, that happened to me once.” Margaery laughs. “Complete disaster.”

 

“So, where are you going to school while you’re here?” Sansa asks.

 

“I’m boarding at Godswood. I’m kind of nervous starting there, I’ve never tried boarding school before.”

 

“It’s a pretty nice school. I go there too”

 

Margaery lights up. “That’s great! I was worried I wouldn’t know anyone.”

 

“I’m sure Myranda, Jeyne and I can show you around.”

 

“That would be perfect. Thank you.” Margaery looks at Sansa so earnestly she wonders if she’d been to harsh on her the other day. Sansa faced off against Jeyne and Myranda regularly in competitions and they remained her best friends. Besides, maybe she could learn a thing or too from her.

 

Jeyne and Myranda show up a minute before class starts, whispering conspiratorially to each other.

 

“What took you so long?” Sansa asks.

 

“There’s a boy in the café.”

“A boy?” Margaery says with a hint of suspicion.

 

“A total babe.” Jeyne says with a hunger in her eyes. Sansa pears over towards the café’s glass doors trying to catch a glimpse.

 

“What did he look like?”

 

“He was wearing really tight jeans, which left very little to the imagination. When we walked past him he totally was giving me a vibe I could feel it.” Myranda says.

 

“Brown hair, tan skin, cheekbones sharp enough to cut someone.” Jeyne lists each feature off on her fingers.

 

“Really fit.” She adds.

 

“Oh,” Margaery lets out a high girlish giggle. “That’s my brother Loras.”

 

 “Is he single?” Jeyne asks, and Myranda smacks her forehead. Margaery is laughing too had to answer.

 

Mordane sees them huddled together and brings them back to attention with a loud cough. Margaery composes herself once more, but she has to bite back a smile. Mordane puts them quickly to the task, demanding so see their progress on their short programs.

 

Myranda goes first, mainly highlighting her choreography and still needing to block in her jumps. She’s chosen a song by Adele and plans on making her program big and dramatic. Myranda loves acting. Jeyne on the other hand is a little subtler, she’s chosen some indie song from the romantic comedy they watched on Netflix last week. She’s been working on her spins and transitions all week, making them as tight as possible.

 

Sansa wonders if Jeyne has grown a little over the summer. She’s always been shorter than Sansa, but now the gap doesn’t seem quite as large. She looks taller standing next to Myranda and Margaery too, both are much more compact in size. Myranda is curvier, but Margaery isn’t rake thin either. Skating requires a lot more core and leg strength than most people realise. Sansa’s thighs are muscular after so many years of power skating and jumps, almost muscular enough to match her brothers. While she’s tall like a Stark, she inherited her mother’s pear shape. In peak condition it’s a struggle at time finding jeans that fit properly. In dresses her boobs are disproportionate to her waste, so it’s a blessing all her skating costumes come tailored.

 

During Margaery’s turn, Sansa watches the shape of her body. She moves as if she were water, ebbing and flowing in precise yet effortless steps. Her spins are good but as always, it’s her jumps that leave Sansa flummoxed. For someone barely over five foot in height, she launches herself through the air like a pocket rocket.

 

Sansa is still struggling to decide what song to skate to. Mordane tries to get them to skate to classical pieces, but since the judges allowed them to skate to modern music its been a lost cause. Myranda is quick to offer up suggestions but so far nothing feels quite right. She want’s something sweet and romantic but still light and fun. Cat had suggested some old song from the eighties, an idea Sansa quickly shot down.

 

Sansa is busy pondering over her options after class that she doesn’t notice Jeyne gasp and clutch at her arm.

 

“It’s Loras.” She hisses, and Sansa’s head snaps up.

 

Just as promised, Margaery’s brother is very handsome. He’s walking over to them, or more specifically towards Margaery. The brother and sister could almost be mistaken for twins. Loras’s hair is shorter and curlier, brushed back from his face in an artful tangle. His lips aren’t as full as Margaery’s but his upper lip curves more into a cupid’s bow. He could probably be a model, even the way his nose is a little off centre seems to work for him. She wonders if he broke it at some point. Sansa feels her cheeks blush as he turns to her with a smile.

 

“Hi, you must be Marg’s skating friends.”

 

“Loras, this is Myranda, Jeyne and Sansa.” Margaery steps forward to introduce them.

 

“Cool.” He nods.

 

“Are you staying in Winterfell with Margaery?” Jeyne smiles.

 

“Nah, just helping Marg set up her dorm then I’m back home.”

 

Sansa feels her two friends falter for a moment trying to hide their disappointment. Sansa doesn’t really feel much aside from flustered. He’s clearly a couple years older than Margaery, the last thing a boy like that would be interested in would be a group of dorky high school girls. Guys as handsome as that are way out of her league.

 

“I’ll see you guys at school.” Margaery picks up her duffle bag, throwing Sansa a wink as she leaves. True to Myranda’s words, Loras is wearing very trendy, tight jeans. They look designer, probably tailored too.

 

“Wow.” Says Myranda.

 

“Do you think if I ask Margaery will give me his number?”

 

Sansa shakes her head. “That’s way too pathetic, even for us.”


	4. End Of Summer

Surprisingly, Robb and Jeyne are the last two to arrive on Sunday.

 

“Sorry we’re late.” Robb says sheepishly as Cat opens the front door for them. It’s only a quarter past one, they hadn’t missed anything.

 

“We brought dessert.” Jeyne holds out a tray with a tea towel covering. “It’s a raspberry cheesecake.”

 

“She made it from scratch.” Robb beams.

 

“That’s excellent. We better hide it in the fridge before Rickon finds it.” Cat takes the cheesecake while Robb helps Jeyne out of her coat and hangs it on the rack by the door. Cat leaves them to it and makes her way back to the kitchen.

 

Sansa is dutifully watching the oven while Arya and Rickon bicker over what things to put into the salad. Jon and Theon have their heads stuck in the fridge, being completely unhelpful.

 

“You two can set the table.” She gets them out of the way, so she can hide the cheesecake.

 

“Robb!” Arya calls out, as he enters the kitchen. “Can you tell Rickon to stop trying to put raisins in the salad.”

 

The salad is then immediately forgotten as Rickon runs over to tackle him. Arya is a step behind, and piles on. Despite Robb’s muffled protests, Jon and Theon join in. Cat and Bran watch on in alarm as Robb struggles to free himself. Sansa bypasses the dogpile entirely to give Jeyne a quick hug.

 

“Where’s Greywind?” He says once he manages to get Rickon off him.

 

“Out the back, but I think that can wait until after lunch.” Cat’s request is ignored as Robb rushes towards the back door. Jon, Theon, Arya and Rickon run after him like they hadn’t all seen the dogs this morning.

 

“Alright Bran, you’re on table setting duty.”

 

“I’ll help,” Jeyne offers, but Bran politely declines.

 

“I’ve got it, it’s alright.” He loads the plates and cutlery onto his lap and makes towards the dining room across the hall.

 

“How have you been, Cat?” Jeyne asks. It had taken a full year for her to call her that and not ‘Mrs Stark’. Calling her a Mrs just makes Cat feel old.

 

“Busy, as always.” Cat laughs. With the three eldest out of home now she’s done more consultant work. She’s never considered going back to a firm full time, in her heart she doesn’t have the drive anymore. Baelish had offered her a full-time position at his northern branch more than once, but she quickly declined. “How is med school going?”

 

“Tough.” She smiles.

 

“Mum, I think the roast is ready.” Sansa opens the over door a fraction to peek inside.

“Alright then, round up the troops I’ll finish this off.” Cat pulls out the oven gloves and gets to work.

 

“Can I help with anything?” Jeyne offers.

 

“Well,” She faulters for a moment remembering what else needs to be done. “Can you take the salad out for me?”

 

Sansa swings the glass panel door open and is met with the sounds of shouts and howls. As she stands on the porch, she watches below on the grass as her brothers and Arya run around with six dire hounds. The size and shape of a wolf, but not quite as wild. They’d gotten them when they were puppies, and each trained one of their own. Theon brushed off the idea of having one. At the time he hadn’t stayed in one place for very long, he didn’t have time to raise a dog while couch surfing. Eventually he’d either go back home or to Pike. Sansa remembers her parents slept better when he was at home.

 

They seem to be playing a game that’s a cross between fetch and rugby. Bran is on the grass throwing the tennis balls and keeping score. Every now and then he’ll throw a soft pass to Summer, who stays close to him. Robb seems to have given up on the game now, sitting on the grass and letting Greywind lick his face instead. Jon drove back down to Winterfell with Ghost, so the pack is all together again.

 

“Guys, Lunch!” Starks and Dogs look up at Sansa, beginning a stampede back towards the house. She stands to the side and lets them all rush through the door, making sure no dogs make it back inside to beg for inevitable lunch scraps. Lady trots up to her, tail wagging and Sansa can’t help but crouch down and plant a kiss on her soft grey head.

 

“Sorry girl, no dogs at the dinner table. Except for Theon.”

 

Theon tilts his head back and howls, setting Shaggy Dog off too. Rickon joins in and Sansa rushes back inside before the neighbours see such an embarrassing display.

 

The dining table is laden with a full spread, not a spare surface put to waste. There’s a garden salad, pasta salad, a bowl of mashed potatoes, tray of stuffed bell peppers, two trays of roasted vegetables and in the centre a large leg of lamb.

 

“How are we going to eat this all?” Jeyne’s eyes widen.

 

“Trust me, we’ll manage.” Robb laughs.

 

“The one thing I don’t miss is having to feed you three.” Cat says to Jon, Robb and Theon. Their weekly shops had been gargantuan when the boys hit their teens. She remembers waking up some to find them stealing food from the fridge in a midnight raid on more than one occasion.

 

Back before Ned had died they had needed a ten-seating dining table to fit them all. Slowly as the years went by more of the seats were left vacated. Cat was relieved to have the room full again. Bran parks at the head of the table, where his chair has the most room. Cat sits on his left side and Sansa his right. Next to Cat is Rickon, making sure her boy doesn’t stray from her watchful eye. Rickon demands Robb sit next to him, and Jeyne takes the last seat on that side leaving the rest to the right side. It means Sansa and Arya are seated next to each other, so she might as well flip a coin and see if they will start an argument over something insignificant.

Cat wonders if her daughters enjoy fighting for the sake of it, Arya seems to enjoy riling up her sister. The boys are no help, egging her on until Sansa storms off or Cat intervenes.

Once the lamb has been cut onto each plate, they waste no time eating their way through lunch.  Arya gets accused of hoarding the gravy, which begins a heated debate she loses to Bran. She pays for her crimes, bitterly offering Bran a significant portion of mashed potatoes as severance.

 

Once the initial feeding frenzy has died down, Cat finally has the time to catch up with her family.

 

“How have you been, Jon?”

 

“Good.” He nods and rinses his mouth with a gulp of water. He studies all the way up in Black Castle and lives there most of the year now. Three years and the small, university town has become his home. It’s right on the edge of the country, to the north is the independent state of the Wildlands. Benjen lives nearby, which gave Cat some relief he could not get into too much trouble. “Actually, I have some news.”

 

They turn to look at him, all surprised.

 

“I’ve been getting in touch with my family on, um, my other side.”

 

Cat swallows on a thick slice of meat before wiping her mouth with a napkin. “I didn’t know you’d been interested in them.”

 

“I saw them on facebook a little while ago and we started talking to each other. I talked to Rhaenys and Aegon first. Rhaegar’s other kids.”

 

“Your half siblings.” Robb says slowly and Jon nods.

 

“I don’t know them that well, but they seem alright.”

 

Cat certainly hopes so. She heard Elia Martell divorced and got full custody of her children, raising them in Dorne. If they had been brought up far away from Rhaegar then perhaps there was half a chance they grew up to be better than their father. She had never met Elia and had only seen Rhaegar once. Once was enough in her mind, he left enough of an impression on her family.

 

“I spoke with Rhaegar briefly.” Jon looks down at the table.

 

“What’s he like?” Arya asks.

 

“I don’t really know.”

 

Cat takes a deep drink of wine. There’s a feeling in the pit of her stomach, the feeling she gets anytime she thinks of what happened with Lyanna. Sometimes when she sees Jon, she gets that feeling too. She still remembers when the boy was ten and Ned decided it was time he knew. He took Jon and drove him down to where Lyanna had been living at the time. On the drive Ned explained Jon’s parentage, while Cat sat the rest of the children down at home.

 

_Jon will always be your brother, but he isn’t the same as you. Your Aunt Lyanna had a baby but she wasn’t ready to be a mother yet, so we adopted him._

_Jon is still your brother,_ Cat had told them all. Later Robb had come to her crying, worried Ned had taken Jon to live with Lyanna now. Cat assured him this wasn’t the case, but only cheered up when Ned brought him home two days later. Robb had grabbed his brother and squeezed him tight, swearing to never let him go.

 

Lyanna hadn’t wanted Jon to know the truth. She had been ashamed and felt guilt about not raising her own child. Lyanna didn’t want the boy to grow up feeling different, but Cat convinced her and Ned they couldn’t lie to Jon forever. He and Robb had been born seven months apart, eventually they would ask questions. Lyanna had cried when she saw Jon the day, and it fell on Ned to be strong that day.

 

Catelyn couldn’t forgive a man like Rhaegar Tagaryen for what he did to her sister-in-law. She had barely been eighteen when he left his wife for her, only to abandon her when she fell pregnant. Lyanna is a strong woman, but she suffered after Jon was born. It hadn’t been an easy birth and the post-natal depression had left her world crumbling. It took years for Lyanna to become the vibrant, wild spirit she was before.

 

“The guy’s a prick.” Theon nods. “Take it from me, biological fathers suck.”

 

“It’s funny you say that. Seeing you and Asha inspired me to try talking to them.”

 

“I think that’s the first time ‘Theon’ and ‘inspiring’ have been used in the same sentence.” Arya ducks before Theon can swipe the back of her head.

 

“I’ve been talking to one of my aunts, she’s around my age. She seems nice too.”

 

“It’s good you’re reaching out.” Cat says and leaves it at that.

 

Robb and Jeyne don’t stay long, but Jon and Theon choose to spend the night and head back in the morning. She sets Jon up in his old room and Theon takes the spare room, now that his and Robb’s has been remodelled. When the children are done washing up Catelyn begins organising them for the first day of school the next day. She checks book lists, irons extra uniforms, and sets alarms.

 

The next morning is the usual school rush, but she manages to get them all in the car before eight. She drops Sansa, Arya, and Rickon at Godswood Academy before taking Bran to Tumbledown High. Bran had been at Godswood before his injury, but afterwards it became clear it would be too difficult for his to navigate the old school and its many staircases. She had been hesitant to send him to a new school, but Bran quickly made friends with the Reed siblings.

 

She parks out the front and helps Bran out the car but doesn’t crowd him. Cat lingers in the car for a moment to watch Bran meet Jojen and Meera at the front gate. Then Cat drives home to an empty house for the first time since summer began.

 

 

 

Sansa is sitting on the brick wall with Myranda and Jeyne, watching everyone who makes their way inside the school’s main entrance. They greet the occasional person they know, remark about those who have changed their hair over the break, but for the most part everyone looks the same. It’s hard to stand out in the same white shirts and red ties. Mya Stone joins them at one point, Sansa played on the volleyball team with her last year, but she’s closer friends with Myranda.

 

“Where’s your sister?” Mya asks and Sansa shrugs. She’d kept Mya entertained on the bus to tournaments telling stories of Arya’s antics. Last year, there had been a lot of those. Mya especially loved hearing how Arya had snuck her way onto a boys only hockey team.

 

“You have a good summer, Mya?”

 

“Eh,” She waves her hand nonchalantly. “I pulled my hamstring a week in and had to sit out half the summer training camp.” School hasn’t even started yet, but Mya is sporting several uniform violations. Her tie is loose, her skirt is too short, and the sleeves of her blouse are rolled up to her elbows. Over all the uniform looks a touch too small on her, perhaps she has had another growth spurt. Mya has always been tall, broad in the shoulders too. She’s studying here on a volleyball and basketball scholarship. They jokingly call her Queen of the Court, a title she hates.

 

Five minutes before the bell, a land rover pulls up in front of the school and out hops Margaery Tyrell. Her brother slides out the driver’s seat to help her take her bags from the boot. Once they’re on the curb, Margaery spots them and waves. Sansa hesitantly waves back as Margaery bounds over with her brother in tow.

 

“Morning, girls!” She says, far too chipper for someone awake this early.

 

Jeyne and Myranda fall silent, choosing instead to ogle at Loras. He seems to pay them no mind.

 

“Marg wait, before you go mum and dad wanted me to get a picture. Sansa, would you mind?” Loras holds out his phone to her. 

 

Sansa takes it and carefully hops down from the wall. She wasn’t aware Loras knew her name. Loras pulls her sister close and they pose for the camera. Margaery shines that perfect smile at her, eyes crinkling perfectly and bouncing up on the balls of her feet to appear taller. Sansa snaps a couple of times before the two siblings break apart and Loras nears her to look at the photos.

 

“Thank you,” He says to her, quiet enough for the others not to her. “Take care of Marg, will you? She likes to pretend she isn’t nervous about moving up here.”

 

“Okay.” Sansa whispers back. Loras nods and takes his phone. He gives Margaery a hug and returns to the car.

 

“What did he say to you?” Jeyne crowds her, eyes blazing.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Wish he’d say nothing to me.” She huffs. Mercifully, the school bell rings and Sansa ends the conversation there before it starts. She takes Margaery up to the administration building, Loras’ words still in the back of her mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for this fic I kinda just merged jeyne westerling and Talisa from the show’s characters because idk it seemed like a fun idea. I liked the battle medic aspect in the tv show and felt that gives this AU Jeyne more of a clear occupation than being Robb’s girlfriend. I mean, Jeyne did tend to Robb’s wounds in the books too right? 
> 
> Sorry if any of you like Rhaegar call this AU some sort of revenge for Elia


	5. On The Outside.

The white tape on her stick is scuffed with dozens of black marks. There isn’t enough time to get back off the ice and change it, so she keeps it on. She takes another lap around the rink before grabbing a puck from the box on the bench. Practice doesn’t start for another ten minutes, but she doesn’t want to wait around in the locker room like everyone else. All the girls are still chatting to each other and lacing up their skates, but Arya prefers the quietness of an empty rink. The only sounds are her skates cutting through the ice and the snap of her stick as she flicks the puck into the empty goal net.

 

She’s been trying to elevate the puck more to pick the top corners. The goalies on her team aren’t that tall and they often leave gaps above their shoulders. The only problem is her shot doesn’t just need to be accurate, it has to be quicker too.

 

She takes another shot from fifteen feet out, aiming for the top left corner. The puck bounces off the post with a loud ping and into the net. _Not bad,_ she tells herself.

 

“It’s Stark, right?” A small, determined voice calls out.

 

Arya looks around to see a girl skating towards her. Her helmet isn’t on, showing her freckled face and dark eyes. Her thick black hair is tied back in a braid. She has what Arya’s father called the Northern look about her. It was a similar set of features Arya herself had inherited. Heavy brows, a long face, brown hair. She wasn’t beautiful, but the girl wasn’t ugly either. They suffered the same affliction of ‘boyish’ features that the world told them could never be pretty.

 

“Lyanna Mormont.” The girl introduces herself, pulling off a glove to hold out her hand. It’s weirdly formal, but Arya shakes it anyway.  “You go to Godswood, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah.” Arya says slowly. She doesn’t recognise Lyanna’s face. Lyanna was a common name in the North. As was Arya, or Jon, or Brandon.

 

“I’m in the year below you. Is it true you played on an all-boys team last year?”

 

“I did.” Arya looks towards the lonely puck still trapped in the net. She wishes the girl would go away so Arya could continue to practice.

 

“That’s so cool. I only played co-ed last year, but all the boys stunk.” She scrunches her nose.

 

“A whole team of them is worse. Pretty sure most of them don’t shower and they never aired their gear.”

 

“Gross.”

 

“Still, they’re fun.” Arya sighs.

 

“Why didn’t you stay on the boys?”

 

“It made a lot of parents angry when they found out their sons where getting outplayed by a girl. When our team lost the championship, I think they blamed me for it. They cut me and dumped me on a girls’ team.”

 

“You’re really good, you’re already the best on our team. I don’t think that many of the others have actually played hockey before.”

 

Arya hadn’t expected much of her new team mates, but she still found herself frustrated. Most of them didn’t take practice seriously and those that did were no challenge to Arya. Cassel had dumped her on a second-rate team when she was just as good as any of the boys.

 

“They’re not taking any of this seriously.” She mutters.

 

“My family takes hockey so serious,” Lyanna beams. “My oldest sister plays on the She-Wolves.”

 

Arya didn’t know that but then again, she hadn’t paid much attention to the WWHL.

 

“Did you know Coach Tarth plays in the Majors?”

 

“No way, they let girls in there?” Lyanna’s eyes widen.

 

“I guess they made an exception. She must be pretty badass.”

 

They both look towards the bench where Brienne is frowning over a clipboard with a thermos of coffee in her other hand. She was as tall and as broad as any man Arya had seen play in the Majors, but Arya wanted very much to see her play for herself.

 

Brienne calls them over to begin practice. After a quick huddle they begin with a warm-up passing drill. Arya works with Lyanna and the two make more successful passes than the rest of the team. Arya finds herself impressed, this other girl isn’t half bad at all. From there they practice carrying the puck around an obstacle course, weaving in and out of small orange traffic cones. Arya thinks its easy, but on her third go around she catches the wrong edge of her skate and lands heavily on the ice. She winces, knowing her hip is sure to bruise.

 

Brienne kneels and offers her a hand to help her up, but she brushes it off. She’d been going too fast, but Arya knows she can go faster. She must need to sharpen her skates again.

 

They finish with a scrimmage with Brienne splitting them into two teams. Arya blinks in surprise when she is put in center position, she has only played on the wings before. Last year Clegane told her she didn’t have the patience or the discipline to win face offs. He also told her she couldn’t be defensive enough either, all she cared about was scoring goals. Arya couldn’t deny that.

 

What ever inexperience she has in the position didn’t seem to matter once the puck was dropped. With Lyanna on her wing the two start a quick offence on the opposing goal. She scores twice in the scrimmage: the first on a quick rebound and the second a snapshot she sends up above the goalie’s shoulder just like she’d practiced beforehand. As the puck hits the back of the net, a cheer erupts from behind her. Arya looks over and sees Gendry and Hot Pie up on the stands clapping and whooping. She feels her face flush and turns away before they catch her smiling.

 

As soon as practice is over she races towards them, ripping her helmet off but not bothering to get out of her skates.

 

“What are you doing here?” She shoves at Hot Pie in way of a greeting.

 

“We have practice tonight right after you.”

 

“The team’s not the same without you, Arry.” Gendry leans over the ruffle her hair. He’s grown another inch since last she saw him.

 

“Yeah well, can’t exactly come back, can I?”

 

“It’s such bullshit putting you with the girls, you’re one of us.” Gendry frowns. Of all her old team, Gendry had been her most vocal supporter. She wouldn’t have been able to hide being a girl if she had if it wasn’t for him.

 

“They’re not all bad. Coach Tarth plays in the Majors.”

 

“What? No way.”

 

“She must be fucking sick.”

 

“Speaking of sick, that goal you just scored. Damn Arry.”

 

“You’re just happy I can’t score on you anymore.” Arya gives him another shove and tries to swallow down a pang of sadness. Arya never gets sad, she only gets angry. But when she sees her friends moving on without her she can’t help but feel left out. They’ll keep going up the ranks, maybe even make it to the WHL someday, a feat Arya will never achieve. No matter how well she played as a girl, she'd always be on the outside looking in. 

 

 

 

 

 

Brienne looks down at the team roster and writes in their positions. When she reaches _Stark, Arya_ she stops for a moment and frowns. She knows the girl has more experience on the wing, but the team is lacking in capable centers. It’s a young team both literally and figuratively. If they’re going to prove the worth of having a girls’ team for more than a year, Brienne needs kids to lead. It’s hard, because Brienne herself is never a leader on the ice. She plays her role, does it well, and calls it a game.

 

She must be muttering some of her worries aloud because Jaime snaps and asks her “What is it now?”

 

“Roster charts.” She replies, and Jaime turns to pay attention to the road. It’s their routine now that Jaime drives them to practice and Brienne drives back. They both own cars, but Jaime insists on carpooling, making some excuse about the environment. Brienne knows its only because Jaime hates driving himself home after practice.

 

“Arya Stark, center.” She says to herself as she pencils it down.

 

“Wait, you’ve got a Stark on your team? I didn’t know any of them still played.”

 

“You know the Starks?” Over the last few weeks Brienne has slowly learnt the weight that name carries. Apparently, the family owned a chain of ice rinks around Winterfell. Even after most were sold off, many people still have a great respect for them.

 

“I knew the girl’s father back in the day. Let’s just say we weren’t friends.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Best if you don’t mention me at all.”

 

“That bad?” Brienne blinks.

 

“It’s a long story.”

 

Brienne doesn’t press him. For ever hockey fan that loved Jaime, there were twice as many that hated him. For good reason too, Jaime was quick to agree. When he wasn’t leading his team to victory he knew how to be a pest and he isn’t afraid of making enemies. Brienne wishes he wouldn’t pick so many fights now that it’s her job to protect him, but he can’t keep to himself. He thrives under pressure. When the crowd boos him it only makes him stronger. They haven’t played a game in the Majors yet, but Brienne is sure her work will be cut out for her.

 

They arrive to practice a little early, which gives time for Brienne to change on her own. She is used to living in locker rooms surrounded by men, but each new team makes her a little nervous. She doesn’t know how they’ll react to her. No one would ever try anything with her, they’d be beyond stupid to, but words can cut just as deep. She’s not about to give them the opportunity to.

 

She’s changed into her gear already as the rest of the team trickles in. She busies herself taping her sticks and re-lacing her skates. Podrick starts up a conversation with her as he stumbles in carrying his hockey bag and sticks. Brienne still can’t believe they named the boy captain, even if they did it only for a joke. Podrick doesn’t seem fazed by it, he already takes his captaincy seriously. Much to the disgust of Bronn, the team’s resident veteran. It was a kinder thing to call him than “Grampa” or “Old Fuck”.  

 

“You know,” Pod says with a smile. “I really think we can win this year.”

 

He is met with laughter.

 

“If we really work hard and play right we can make it to the finals.”

 

“I think the kid has hit his head too many times.” Bronn smirks

 

“We have a Lannister on our team.”

 

“Sorry kid, I think my hands are tied.” Jaime holds up his right hand in a splint. Again, laughter bubbles up around the room. Brienne stays quiet.

 

Pod falls silent, his young face twisted into a dark frown. Brienne almost feels bad for the kid. Jaime and Brienne didn’t come to the Oathkeepers with lofty ambitions and championship dreams. They came here because they were offered a roster spot when no one else would take them. Jaime’s hand injury made him a liability as much as Brienne’s gender made her one too.

 

The young captain doesn’t seem to understand is that no one comes to the Majors to win. Tired and worn-down people packed tiny rinks like sardine cans to watch men skate hard and hit each other often. It’s mixed martial arts on ice; anything goes as long as you don’t kick with your skates. When Brienne first began her career playing in backwater rinks, the Majors were in a golden age. Enforcers were once honourable, goons were heroes. From there began a slow decline as the bare-knuckled bullies all retired one by one. Concussions, injuries, substance abuse. Fewer players these days were willing to sacrifice their bodies for entertainment. They weren't heroes anymore, they were outsiders in the sport they helped build. The Majors is on the frontline of a losing battle with time.

 

She heard Bronn say the Oathkeepers are a travelling circus. _A boy-faced captain, a couple of old cunts, men who’ve lost enough teeth they take their meals through a straw, ex-junkies, ex-ex-junkies, a washed-up has-been, and a woman._ No one came to see them play hockey, the came to drink beer, heckle refs and watch these freaks put on a show.

 

For a moment Brienne has a pang of empathy towards Podrick. Perhaps in another life she could have been more. Perhaps they all could have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya feels like one of those girls who is always makes friends with boys and doesn’t really ‘get’ other girls. Maybe she’s got a bit of internalised misogyny from that kind of environment so what better way to have her confront that then put her on an all-girl team? 
> 
> I love Lyanna from the show, so I aged her up a little bit so she can hang out with Arya and guide her on her quest for girl power or something. 
> 
> I was listening to the Stanley Cup final when I wrote this, so if it reads as janky as I feel it is, you can blame the dulcet tones of Pierre McGuire.


	6. Home Opener

“Seven Hells,” Margaery groans, zipping her puffy jacket up to her nose. “It’s so cold.”

 

“It’s only going to get colder.” Sansa says which earns her a glare from Margaery. She is at least a little sympathetic, walking outside on a day as windy as this isn’t pleasant. The rink is only three blocks from school, Sansa insisted they walk rather than wait for a school shuttle. Still, it is only Autumn, and it hasn’t even snowed yet.

 

“I miss Kings’ Landing.”

 

“I thought you said you lived in Highgarden.”

 

“Oh, I do, but we holidayed in Kings’ Landing this summer. The city is _so_ beautiful.”

 

“It is,” Sansa agrees half-heartedly, in truth the place only brought back bad memories. Objectively the city had its charms, but Sansa has turned off them.

 

“You’ve been?”

 

“Ages ago, I was going to school there for a little bit.”

 

“No way!” Margaery puffs. “I was looking at going to a school around there before I decided on Winterfell. Let me guess, High Hill College?”

 

“That’s the one.”

 

“Did you like it there?”

 

“It was okay. It wasn’t home.” Sansa remembers being stranded in the bustling metropolis. The city never slept, and soon enough Sansa didn’t either. She had come to the city a bright-eyed thirteen-year-old with her father and sister. She left the city half a year later feeling like a stranger in her own skin.

 

“How pretty is the Red Keep? And the Sept of Baelor! So much history in those old buildings, it’s like magic.” Margaery lets out a heavy sigh. “They say the North has a rich history too.”

 

“Sure, I mean, we have the biggest war memorial museum in Westeros. But if you don’t care about battles and swords it can be a little dull. There’s a stone spire out near Broken Tower, apparently it was built by the First Men.” Sansa doesn’t know why she’s telling Margaery all this. She wouldn’t care about silly old rock carvings.

 

“There’s so much to explore up here. One day I want to go see the Wall.”

 

“You should. My brother Jon lives near it. It’s amazing.”

 

“Is it really as big as they say?”

 

“Bigger.” Sansa stills remember the ache in her neck from looking up at it. She had been nervous about going up to the top, but once she was there it was like being on top of the world. Of course, the Wall is now broken apart. They tore down huge chunks of its hundreds of years ago when the war between The North and The Wildlands was finally settled. Sections of it remain for historical preservation and tourism.

 

“I really like Winterfell and everything but the boys at school keep avoiding me, are they shy?”

 

“You’re the mysterious new girl, give it a week and you’ll have to beat them back with a stick.”

 

Margaery laughs. “I guess I’ll see if they’re as hot as the ones in Kings’ Landing.”

 

“Doubt it.” Sansa feels her heart sink for a moment. “They’re all gross.”

 

They grab a hot chocolate at the café before their training session to warm Margaery up. Today is their first time introducing their finished routine for polishing. Sansa has a new dress for the new season and she’s eager to test it out today. She’s sponsored by a local store that sells figure skating apparel, she gets her dresses and training gear at a discount rate. Margaery is eager too, her costume came express from the Reach last night.

 

“Have you figured out your song yet?”

 

“I just went with Lana Del Ray.” Sansa shrugs. She still isn’t happy, but she can’t think of anything better.

 

“Oh, that’s perfect!” She smiles. Margaery is skating to the latest Ariana Grande song. With her long brown hair, she’ll probably wear it up in a high ponytail for the performance. It’s all so perfectly thought out, Sansa is almost jealous. It’s only the first competition but she feels all over the place where Margaery looks so put together.

 

In truth Sansa feels like her choice in song is childish. The judges won’t take her seriously. If Sansa wants to make it to the Grand Prix, she needs to be better. The judges would never see Margaery as childish, she’d make them take her seriously. In the few weeks Sansa has known her, she moves with the poise of a seasoned pro. Despite her height, Margaery’s curves make her look older. Sansa feels like a tall child next to her.

 

The feeling only deepens when they change into their new outfits. Margaery appears from the changing room in a pale pink two piece. The bottom half is a short nylon skirt, the top half a cropped full sleeve top. The top has a split open at the rib cage where white diamantes spill out.

 

“Oh wow, Sansa!” Margaery looks her up and down. Sansa’s inky blue dress feels matronly next to hers. “That is so elegant, where did you get it?”

 

“The Silk Singer.” A small studio in the city, run by a Braavosi woman and her daughter.

 

“That colour works so well for you.”

 

Sansa had thought the colour pretty at first, but now she wonders if it makes her skin look too pale and washed out. The pink on Margaery suits her perfectly, making her sun kissed skin glow. The outfit is completed with white gloves Margaery slips over her hands with practiced ease.

 

“I’ve always worn gloves just in case. I guess it’s a good luck charm.”

 

Sansa doesn’t consider herself superstitious, but she fumbles with the silver pendant around her neck. Her father had given it to her on her tenth birthday, she’s hardly taken it off since then. Margaery’s eyes slick down at the pendant as it catches in the light.

 

“That’s pretty.” Margaery leans in to get a better look, Sansa holds it towards her showing the face engraved with a dire wolf’s head. Sansa watches Margaery has her dark lashes flutter against her cheek.

 

“An old birthday present.”

 

Margaery nods and steps back. “How are you going to do your hair?”

 

“Just a bun, probably.”

 

“You should do that braided bun you wore the other day.”

 

“Maybe.” She shrugs. Sansa hadn’t thought Margaery had noticed something as trivial as that. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a small braid on each side that twisted into her bun. Still, it isn’t a bad idea.

 

Their lesson with Mordane is mostly uneventful. They work through their routines, Mordane tells them where they need slight changes. She watches over all their jumps to ensure they’re not doing anything too far above or below their skill level. Sansa always loves jumping the most. It’s the closest a human can ever get to flying. It’s always a risk, when you fall it can be dangerous, but Sansa is rarely afraid of falling. The ice is her home.

 

“I’m telling you Sansa, it’s a waste not to put a double axel in your routine.”

 

“I’ve never landed one outside of practice.” She wishes Mordane would leave it. Landing a double in practice when no one is assessing her is much different to landing one in competition. She wants to wait until its perfect. So far, she’s still under-rotating. She’s not afraid of falling, she’s done it plenty of times, but she’ll be damned if she lets a judge mark her down for something less than perfect. Besides, no one else is attempting a double axel, not even Margaery.

 

Margaery’s jumps are good, but she doesn’t get the height that Sansa does. Her real threat belongs in her choreography and spins. She can glide across the ice on one skate effortlessly, when Sansa knows its far from it. Each movement she makes is calculated, each step is exactly where Margaery wants it to be. When she’s focused, she’s almost perfect.

 

All of this isn’t to say Jeyne and Myranda aren’t good either. As skaters in the same category as Sansa they’re excellent. Jeyne beat Sansa to first place twice last year, even though Sansa considers herself better overall. First place isn’t given, it’s earned. Anyone can earn it, so Sansa knows she can never afford to let herself be complacent. Jeyne and Myranda look strong for their first competition of the season. Jeyne has chosen a sleek black dress and Myranda’s a lacy red halter neck.  

 

They pack their costumes away in garment bags after practice and Sansa walks Margaery back to school. It’s dark out now, but Margaery doesn’t mind. She doesn’t seem to be in a rush to get back to the dormitories.

 

“I think it’s meatloaf for dinner again.” She scrunches her nose. “I think I’m starting to miss food that isn’t that or pasta.”

 

Sansa loves pasta, but she doesn’t think she could eat it every other night.

 

“Why don’t you come around to mine for dinner some time?” Sansa offers.

 

“Really?”

 

“My family is really weird, but you’re welcome anytime.”

 

“I’d love that.” Margaery smiles softly, eyes shining from the street lights overhead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brienne closes her eyes and listens to the crackle of the far-off speakers playing some old rock song. She can barely make out the thrum of the base over the raucous voices bouncing around the locker room. She pulls her other skate on and lets strands of short blonde hair fall into her eyes. Jaime is getting ready beside her, silent as always. She appreciates that about him. He knows how to be quiet.

 

He slides the blue jersey over his head and pokes his arms through the sleeves. The fabric falls to reveal a red heart with a sword stabbed through it. As far as team logos go, she’s seen worse. He turns around for a moment and the back of his jersey reads: _LANNISTER 79._ Anywhere he goes, any team he plays on, that is always his number. No one has ever been stupid enough to take it from him. Brienne has always gone for a more traditional number eight on her jersey.

 

“Alright boys let’s get out there.” Bronn calls out and is met with hoots and cheers.

 

“Dreadfort is a weak team, we can crush them.” Pod stands up with his helmet in hand.

 

“We’ll fucking show those shits”

 

For a moment, Pod almost looks proud. They file out of the locker room tapping their sticks and bumping gloved fists. Brienne hangs near the end of the line, sweeping back her hair and securing her helmet on top. She taps Jaime’s leg with her stick as she passes by and makes her way out towards the rink. One, two, three quick steps and her skate lands on the ice. Fresh after a Zamboni sweep, the ice is as smooth as glass. Her skates cut through like butter. She takes a half lap around the rink and gently stretches out her legs. It doesn’t have the largest seating capacity of a rink she’s played in, but the stands a nearly full for the Oathkeeper’s first home game. The mottled sea of blue cheers and shouts from their seats, plastic cups of beer raised in salute. It’s not the loudest she’s heard a crowd, but no one is booing them yet. She takes that as a victory.

 

As she stops at the boards by the bench, their voices become louder. Brienne turns towards the door and sees Jaime enter and give the crowd a small wave. Some of the voices seem appreciative, others come across as jeers. She wonders what it would take for them to love him.

 

“Is that a woman?” She hears a voice call out and immediately drops her eyes to the ground.  

 

“No fucking way.”

 

She quickly skates away, but not before they start calling out her name.

 

“Tarth! Oi Tarth!”

 

Brienne hunches forward and blocks them out.

 

“Made some friends already?” Jaime smirks. Brienne doesn’t reply. Instead she watches the Dreadfort Flayers take to the ice in black and red uniforms. Boos erupts from the stands and Brienne feels relief it isn’t aimed at them. The Flayers are a grim bunch with dark eyes and scarred faces. Their shortest player is at least six foot. Brienne isn’t intimidated by size, she’s taller than most.

 

The game begins unceremoniously with a puck drop and a buzzer sounding. Brienne starts the game on the bench with Jaime who is seemingly unfussed that he wasn’t given the nod to start. In the past that had been a point of pride for the Lannister, but now he didn’t seem concerned. It’s only when they make a line change so that Brienne and Jaime are out there together that she understands. They’re putting him out there sheltered to test the waters first. She finds the hesitation a little amusing. He’s an ex-WHL all-star, he doesn’t need a safety blanket.

 

Brienne doesn’t think about Jaime for the rest of her shift on the ice. One of the Flayers finally notices her and almost doubles over laughing.

 

“I heard a rumour Brienne the Beauty was coming!”

 

She decides to level him with a well-placed hip check and sends him skidding across the ice. The crowd roars. She sees him mouth the words _fucking bitch_ and feels a smile twitch at the corner of her mouth.

 

Bronn manages to score the lone goal of the period as time expires and they head back to the locker room for intermission. The second period begins uneventfully until two more Flayers decides they want to make themselves Brienne’s problem. She crushes one of them up against the boards and leaves him to crumple on the floor like an empty soda can. The other takes offense and immediately gloves are dropped.

 

Whistles are called but no one dares get in the way. Brienne and the Flayer wearing number twenty-four circle each other for a moment before Brienne lunges forward to grab him. She clutches his jersey in her left hand and hits him with a right hook. Twenty-four tries to retaliate, scrambling to grab at Brienne but she has a size advantage over him. Another quick punch and he loses his balance, toppling to the ice. Referees come in the separate them, but Brienne has already let him go. She picks up her discarded gloves and helmet and skates towards the penalty box where a cheering crowd awaits her. Jaime leads the team in tapping their sticks against the boards in salute of her.

 

Even on the power play the Flayers can’t score. Bronn scores again late in the third and the Oathkeepers with their first game 2-0. Brienne is pleased. They sit around in the locker room changing out of sweaty gear and heading for the showers. Brienne holds back for a bit and waits for the team to be finished. If they take too long she can use the showers in a different room, or she can just shower at home. She hasn’t decided yet.

 

Before she even has time to get out of her jersey and pads, one of the assistant trainers approaches her nervously.

 

“Um, sorry to bother you, but they’re some kids waiting outside for you.”

 

“What?” She blinks.

 

“One of them said her name was Arya. I think.”

 

“Oh.” Brienne blinks and gets to her feet.

 

“Got yourself a fan club already?” Jaime calls out after her.

 

Brienne ducks out of the locker room to see a small gaggle of kids in the hallway. Arya leads the pack in a hoodie and torn up black jeans. Half a step behind is Lyanna Mormont with three boys Brienne doesn’t recognise.

 

“Good game coach,” Lyanna smiles, the happiest Brienne has seen the stern-faced girl.

 

“Thanks.” Brienne says slowly, still confused that they have come to see her.

 

“This are my friends: Gendry, Hot Pie and Lommy.” Arya says about the boys and Brienne nods politely.

 

“I’ve never seen anyone fight that good before.” Lommy says with awe.

 

“He wasn’t much of an opponent.” Hot Pie grumbles. “The Flayers suck.”

 

“And you knocked him on is arse like it was nothing!” Lyanna mimes a punch.

 

“I’m glad you enjoyed the game. Are you all getting picked up?” The last thing Brienne wants is the knowledge that a bunch of fourteen-year old are wandering home in the night.

 

“Mum’s driving us home.” Arya nods towards the entry of the hallway where a familiar red-haired woman is waiting. Catelyn Stark raises her hand in acknowledgement and Brienne waves back.

 

“Good, well, I won’t keep her waiting,” Brienne goes to say goodbye when Arya’s eyes go wide.

 

“Hey kids.” Jaime’s voice says from behind her. He slides out of the doorway and slings an arm around Brienne. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“You’re Jaime Lannister.” Arya says softly. Her tone could be taken for admiration, or simply surprise.

 

“I am.” He looks down at her for a moment before his green eyes flick over her shoulder. “Oh, hello Catelyn. It’s been a while.”

 

Brienne watches Catelyn Stark storm over and holds a tense grip on her daughter’s shoulder. Brienne shrug’s Jaime’s arm off her and takes a step backwards feeling the temperature drop around them.

 

“Arya, why don’t you and your friends go check out the merch stand before we leave.”

 

“Can I get that Oathkeepers cap I saw?”

 

“Sure.” Cat says, eyes not leaving Jaime. She squeezes her shoulder gently and waits for her daughter’s friends to be out of earshot. “You have some nerve coming this far north.”

 

“Last time I checked it’s a free country.” Jaime tilts his head. Brienne watches on, unsure what is happening.

 

“I didn’t think Tywin could protect you from all the way up here.”

 

“I don’t need my father’s protection.” Jaime snaps and Catelyn’s eyes flash to Brienne for a moment.

 

“Well I’d hate for you to find out,” Her jaw clenches for a moment. “Stay away from my family, Lannister.”

 

She leaves as quickly as she came, her thick red braid swinging as Brienne watches her walk away.

 

“What the fuck was that about?” Brienne says as she turns a corner and disappears from view.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m basing a lot of Margaery as a figure skater off Evgenia Medvedeva, she’s amazing and I love her style. I can see Marg in the classic gloves Evegnia often wears. Also, she did a routine to 7 rings by Ariana and its so much fun go look at it. She also did a sailor moon inspired one, she’s an icon. 
> 
> Honestly, I know far more about hockey than I do figure skating. Researching it for this is a lot of fun, if you guys have favourite skaters/performances please share them!


	7. From Godswood to Tumbledown

She crushes the pink slip of paper in her hands. Her first uniform violation of the year is not shaping out to be her only one. So what if her shoes were wrong or she forgot her tie? Arya is a staunch believer that school uniforms were a tool of oppression used to stifle individuality. Her defiance didn’t seem to impress any of her teachers. They’d even tried to give her detention when she’d cut her hair, but Maester Luwin has been quick to point out she’d broken no school rules. For a dusty old pencil pusher, she supposed he wasn’t half bad.

 

Her terrible presentation skills are not her fault. Who has time to polish your shoes every morning when her trusty black pair of converses a much more comfortable? Sometimes she sleeps through her alarm and forgets her tie hanging from her bedroom doorknob. As hard as Arya tries, all her uniforms are covered in thick grey and white dog hair. She doesn’t understand how Sansa keeps her clothes so fur free. She doesn’t care to find out. If they wanted to punish Nymeria for sleeping on Arya’s school jumper then she should serve lunchtime detention instead.

 

She has made a promise to her mother this year to try and stay out of trouble. The only problem being that trouble is always the one that finds Arya first. Today trouble takes the form of the meat-headed lump that is Walder Frey. He looks as ugly as ever and half a foot taller than when Arya saw him last year. He towers over her now, but Arya is not afraid. They had started calling him Little Walder as a joke, but the ironic nick name stuck.

 

“Hey horse face!” He shouts at her during lunch. She is determined to keep ignoring him as she walks past, but he steps out in front of her and blocks the way.

 

“Move.” She glares up at him.

 

“What, you going to make me?” The Frey boy smiles. His teeth are chipped. “You couldn’t stop me on the ice and you can’t stop me now.”

 

It’s salt in the wound and Little Walder knows it. When Arya’s team lost the championship of course it had to be to the team he had played for. He promised to never let her live it down.

 

“I heard they finally kicked you out. Stupid girls like you can never be as good as us men.”

 

“Is that what you call yourself? Look more like a pig in a tie to me.”

 

“Watch yourself, horse face. Your team isn’t around to protect you anymore.”

 

“I don’t need protection.” She sticks her jaw out at him.

 

“Nah, got yourself a little girlfriend though,” Walder smirks and looks over Arya’s head. She turns around and sees Lyanna a few steps away, watching Walder with clenched fists.

 

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, Little Frey?” She asks. Walder looks down at Lyanna, whose lanky form can’t be more than an inch taller than Arya and laughs. Arya’s stomach clenches in annoyance and embarrassment. The last thing she wants is for Lyanna to fight her battles for her.

 

He looks disinterested now that numbers aren’t on his side. Toys are less fun when they fight back. He shoves Arya as he walks away in search of his next target. Lyanna sidles up to her and lets out a sigh of relief.

 

“He likes to pretend he’s tough, but he’s chickenshit.” She says to Arya.

 

“He’s good at hockey.”

 

“We’re going to be better.”

 

Arya wishes she has Lyanna’s optimism. Walder Frey is only going to get bigger and stronger. He’ll be a monster on the ice, but his size could make him slow. Arya is fast and she’s a better skater than anyone else her age. But if she can’t hold her own out on the ice it won’t matter. Boys like Little Walder will always be better than her.

 

As she spends her lunch break with Lyanna, she can’t shake the words from her thoughts. _Girls can never be as good as men._  Arya never believed there was anything she couldn’t do. Even when her older brothers teased her, she knew deep down they were wrong. Her father knew everything about hockey, and he never told her no. When she begged her parents to let her play Ned had taken her to the store to get her first skates fitted. Jon was there too, and together they picked out her first hockey stick.

 

Now she feels unsure of herself. When they told her she couldn’t play with the boys she did it anyway. She pretended to be a boy for a full month before the coaches and team figured it out. She was one of the best scorers on the team but even that wasn’t enough. She isn’t allowed on a boys’ team now, but she didn’t quite belong with the girls yet either. Lyanna is cool and she knows a lot about hockey, but Arya misses her other friends. Gendry, Hot Pie and Lommy all go public schools and now without practice and games together she is seeing them less and less. How long before they forget about her?

 

The last time they had spoke was at the Oathkeepers home opener. Arya brought Lyanna along to introduce her to the group and she seemed to fit in alright. Lommy and Hot Pie were always weird around girls that weren’t her, but Gendry was nice. He never treated Arya differently when he found out she was a girl. He had even helped her keep the secret for a little while. They’d travel to games and practices together with Gendry’s foster father until her mother discovered what she’d been up to.

 

 Despite Cat’s reservations she never stopped Arya from playing and defended her from other parents. Yet not even her fierce mother could stop the league organisers barring her from junior boy teams. Arya often wonders if her mother likes it better now that she’s on a girls’ team. All the boys are transitioning into checking and hitting harder while the girls aren’t allowed to. Arya thinks it’s crap. After seeing the Oathkeepers, she knows Brienne can hit just as hard.

 

“Does the rest of your family play?” Lyanna asks after listing off her four sisters’ hockey prowess. Even her mother plays on a rec league. 

 

“My dad did, Theon and Robb used to. Jon still plays in college and my little brother Rickon does.” Arya lists off between mouthfuls of ham sandwich.

 

“Your sister never played?”

 

Arya scrunches up her nose, almost laughing at the thought of Sansa in hockey pads. She couldn’t stand the smell of them. “She’s a figure skater.”

 

While Arya taped sticks and sharpened her skates, Sansa would be trying on sparkly costumes. Cat had made Arya try figure skating once when she was five and she loathed ever second of it. Arya didn’t care about smiling and spinning and looking pretty, she wanted to be a hockey player like all her brothers. None of them had to try figure skating.

As much as she personally despises it, Arya admits Sansa is a great skater. She’d never say it to anyone, but the amount of strength and power needed to pull off the jumps that Sansa does is nothing short of impressive. Cat always jokes they’re as different as day and night, but years of watching Sansa pour her heart and soul into the sport has left Arya with begrudging respect.

 

In Arya’s eyes the problem is Sansa makes everything look so perfect. Everywhere she looks her sister outshines her. Prettier, more friends, better grades. Even in dead boring subjects like English, Sansa gets A’s. Teachers love her because she’s so polite and smart and _perfect._ Boys love her, and girls want to be her. Sansa walks through life seemingly unaware how popular and perfect she is.

 

Everyone loves her older sister, but when Arya came along none of that love spread to her. Arya is weird and lanky with a long face and a short temper. She can be smart when she wants to, but much to her mother’s chagrin she often can’t find the motivation. Arya doesn’t care that she isn’t popular. She likes being an outcast and doing her own thing. If Lyanna wants to tag along too, she thinks that wouldn’t be so bad.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Summer sits by his desk, eyes drooping for a moment. It’s another hour before class is finished, but Bran feels just as tired as his companion. Today’s science lesson has been mostly theory and Bran is beginning to lose interest in learning all the stages of cell division. Wasn’t biology supposed to be more interesting than this? There were whole animals out there, why bother spending time on individual cells?

 

They’d been given work sheets to cut and paste information into their books, but Bran had finished his five minutes ago and has just been doodling on scrap paper since. He’d been trying to draw a cool sword he’d seen on the cover of a new book in the library but getting all the straight edges and angles right is hard. He gives up on that and gives the discarded paper to Summer.

 

“Bin.” He says quietly and Summer walks diligently across the classroom to drop the rubbish in the bin. As Summer makes his way back, Bran is poked in the shoulder with a pencil.

 

“Hey, can he take mine too?” Jojen pushes a small pile of paper scraps onto Bran’s desk.

 

“Get your own.” Bran smiles and gives the paper to Summer anyway. As much as Summer is Bran’s assistance dog, he’s not about to make Jojen get up. He can still walk independently, but he’s using a walking stick more frequently than when they first met. Bran wonders if one day a mobility assistance dog would help him too.

 

As the start of a new school year, Bran is still getting used to new classes and new teachers. Some Bran hasn’t had before. What makes him more nervous is new class mates. With Summer at his side it made meeting new people easier. Everyone wants to pat and play with him which he isn’t technically meant to do while working, but Bran lets Summer get a bit more attention for the first few weeks. Eventually it all becomes normal again.

 

“Why do they all sound the same?” Bran frowns, wondering how he’s ever supposed to remember if metaphase or anaphase comes first.

 

By the time class is finally over Bran feels like his brain has been ground down into mush. He and Jojen wait for Meera to get out of physics class. Meera emerges carrying a heavy textbook under her arm and smiles when she sees them.

 

“Still going to the library?” She asks them.

 

“We’ve got to find books for our English project.” Jojen says as they make their way towards the elevator that will take them up to the library. They must write monthly book reports through out the year and Bran isn’t sure what to read first.

 

The Tumbledown library is an old cement building with dusty grey carpet. The tall bookshelves reach high up to the ceilings. Books on the top shelves require a librarian to retrieve. Behind the front desk today is Osha who gives them a nod as they enter.

 

Meera settles down at their usual table near the front window and pulls out her physics homework. He wouldn’t call them bookworms, but the library is warm and quiet, and their group has spent many lunch times hanging out here. Osha doesn’t even mind when they talk too loudly. Bran takes his bag off the back of his chair and leaves it on the table before going down to peruse the fiction section with Jojen. The aisles are quite narrow so Summer waits at the entrance.

 

“What was that one we saw yesterday with the sword on it?” Bran wonders.

 

“Dark Sister. I think its under historical fiction.”  

 

Bran decides to keep browsing. He runs his finger along the shelves picking up a fine layer of dust as he goes. Maybe he should tell Osha not to slack on the cleaning. His index finger stops on a black leather cover inlayed along the spine the name _B. Rivers._ It’s right on his eye level so he barely needs to reach to pull it out. It’s heavier than he expected as he turns the book over to look at the cover. _Blood Raven,_ the title reads and underneath there is the sketch of a pale man with one red eye. There is no blurb on the back, but Bran is already intrigued. He leaves Jojen with his nose in a paperback and takes it over towards Osha’s desk.

 

“Find anything interesting back there?” She leans forward as he eases to a stop in front of her.

 

“Just this.” He places the book down on the desk with a gentle thud.

 

“Oh, I remember this. It’s the first book in the Greenseer series. They were huge when I was growing up.”

 

“What’s it about?”

 

“Action, adventure, mystery, dragons.” Osha smiles, knowing exactly what Bran wants to hear. “What do you think, Summer?”

 

The great grey dog trots over at the mention of his name and leans over to sniff the cover of the book. He looks up at Bran and sneezes.

 

“Alright, I’ll give it a go.” Bran slides it over and pulls out his student ID card. Osha scans the book through the system and hands it back to him.

 

“What’s that?” Meera looks up when he returns to their table.

 

“Some old book.”

 

“Huh, cool.” Meera says unenthused, returning to her homework. “Did you see the flyer on the bulletin board?”

 

“No?” Bran looks around towards the large cork board by the door. Jojen is over there tearing off a piece of paper.

 

“Thought you might have heard about it. Apparently, they’re doing a hockey clinic at the Winter Festival this year.”

 

“Okay.” Bran shrugs. Meera and Jojen have never really showed an interest in the sport before.

 

“Apparently they’ll be sled hockey too. Jojen wants to check it out.”

 

“Really?” Bran hasn’t heard anything about this. He hasn’t thought much about hockey since his injury.

 

“Well I’ll sign up if you do.” She says and leaves Bran to think on it.

 

He mulls it over dinner that night but doesn’t say anything to his Mum. Between schoolwork and chores and his rigorous videogame schedule, does he really have time for hockey again? He gets into bed that night a little early and turns his attention to the new book. Summer settles on his bed with his assistance vest finally off for the day and falls asleep. Bran cracks open the hardback cover and forgets about hockey entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters’ opinions on how interesting certain school subjects are not shared by the author. 
> 
> I can’t remember if I stated it specifically, but Bran uses a wheelchair after a spinal cord injury and Jojen has MS and uses a walking stick for mobility and balance. I did some research into SCIs and mobility assistance dogs but seeing as I am able bodied, please point out if I have written anything inaccurate here. Obvs dire-dogs are a made-up breed so Summer is definitely fictional and inaccurate to how service dogs are trained and assigned to owners, but hopefully what Summer can do for Bran is more true to life.


	8. Weekend Sport

In truth Brienne doesn’t think about Catelyn Stark’s outburst until the following Saturday. It’s only when she spots her in the crowd at the first under fourteen’s game of the season that Brienne remembers it. She’s sitting in the second row of the stands clad in a thick woollen sweater. Her signature red hair is tied back and hidden under a knitted hat. She sits between two boys with darker auburn hair that must be her sons. Of all the Starks Brienne has seen, Arya seems the least like her mother in appearance. She never knew Ned Stark, but Brienne takes an educated guess she takes after him. 

One thing Arya and her mother do seem to share is a ferocity. The other night Brienne had not expected the outburst from a slight statured, middle-aged woman. The first time they had met, despite being brief, had been polite enough. It had been a strange sight to see her fair and kind face twist into something much angrier. A part of Brienne understands, Jaime Lannister often had that affect on people. Usually other hockey players which makes her wonder. 

Arya is warming up on the ice, stick handling the puck between her legs. She frowns in concentration biting at the bottom of her lip as she goes. Brienne makes a mental note to remind her to put a mouthguard in before the game. She wonders just how necessary a mouthguard is when the kids are already made to wear full face cages on their helmets, but Brienne doesn’t argue with the rule book. She thanks the gods she doesn’t have to wear a cage anymore in her own games. 

The team has officially been called the Howlers, and their jerseys are a deep purple lined with white. They’re the only all girl team in the league, the rest of the teams are still mixed with not enough girls to make a full roster. Brienne isn’t sure that’s a promising sign for the quality of their opponents, but almost half her own team are just starting out. Everyone is learning here, Brienne included. 

If there is one person who seems unimpressed with the quality of their competition today, it’s Arya. She sends side-long glances towards the opposite side of the ice where several kids are wobbling on their skates like newborn foals. What ever her concerns are, she doesn’t voice them with Brienne. She is pleased enough that she gets to start the game slotting into the top center position. She lets Lyanna start on Arya’s wing although Brienne is considering moving her back to play on defence at some point. The team needs good skaters on their back end and Lyanna has experience defending. The thought almost makes Brienne laugh, calling fourteen-year-olds experienced. Still, she remains her composure on the bench. 

Brienne has always found it hard to balance the line between being an encouraging coach and a good sport. On her own team they dig into their competitors like a Sunday lunch. When they aren’t throwing chirps and elbows they’re in the penalty box. Somewhere in between they try to score goals. Brienne has her own code of conduct, she tries not to play dirty unless the other team started it. She can’t speak the same for her team mates. 

She tries not to gloat, but when Arya scores the first goal of the game she cheers along with the team. 

“Well done, Stark!” She calls out when Arya switches out on the bench. The girl smiles as she pulls the cage off her face to drink water. 

A few minutes later Lyanna scores off a pass from Arya. In the stands behind them, a grey-haired woman and four older daughters cheer loudly. Lyanna half heartedly shakes her head as she laughs and wraps an arm around Arya’s shoulder. The Howlers lead 2-0 into the half time break. Ice Hockey is usually played in three twenty-minute periods, but they shorten it to two fifteen-minute halves for the kids.   
Brienne feels quietly confident coming into the second half, but two minutes in Arya gets called for a penalty. Doesn’t matter, Brienne thinks to herself and gives Arya a thumbs up from the penalty box. Only then five minutes later Arya is penalised again for tripping a kid on the opposing team. Arya is in the box this time when the other team scores to make it 2-1. 

“Wasn’t even a trip,” Arya grumbles. “He fell over his own stick.”

Brienne isn’t too sure how true that is. Two penalties in one game isn’t a great start to the season, but it doesn’t seem fair to bench her. She feels more confident in that decision when Arya scores another goal as the game ends. A 3-1 victory is nothing to sneeze at. 

After the game comes the awkward meeting with parents as they pick their kids up from the locker room. Brienne tries not to show her lack of confidence around kids, but she feels more nervous around their parents. She can feel them judging her, wondering if she’s good enough to teach their daughters. They never say anything to her face, but Brienne would much prefer they did. She’s always hated the whispers that travel behind her back. 

It’s all smiling faces in the locker room as mothers and fathers carry out their hockey bags and congratulate them on the victory. Catelyn Stark is one of the last parents to arrive, with no other parent. Not that Brienne is paying attention to that. The two boys she was sitting with aren’t with her. She finds Arya and swoops down to give her a quick hug, not minding the sweaty gear. 

“Well done, Arya!” She beams. Next to the two Starks is the Mormont family. 

Maege, the family matriarch watches them for a moment, a wry smile on her face. Brienne has only met Maege today, but she already likes her. Short stout, with a stern brow and dark hair, Maege Mormont has a no-nonsense attitude. The family also seems to know a lot about hockey and has heard of Brienne’s hockey exploits in the south. If you’re ever interested in playing on the She-Wolves, I’m sure we could find a spot for you, Maege’s eldest daughter Dacey had said with a wink. Brienne highly doubts they’d want her on a women’s team. 

“You’ve got quite a kid there.” Maege smiles and reaches out to shake Catelyn’s hand. “We’ve heard so much about her from my little Lyanna.”

“Likewise, you must be very proud of Lyanna.” Catelyn returns a firm yet friendly handshake. 

“I’m not little anymore, Mum.” Lyanna interrupts, frowning. Maege reaches down to ruffle her hair. The side of Cat’s mouth twitches. 

“That coach Tarth is doing a good job with them, don’t you think?” Maege reaches down to ruffle Lyanna’s hair. The side of Cat’s mouth twitches. Across the room, Brienne turns around and hopes they hadn’t noticed her listening. 

“Yes, hopefully she can teach Arya to stay out of the penalty box.” 

“Mum!” Arya groans. The Mormonts laugh. 

“With a great bully like Tarth? She’ll teach these girls to stand up for themselves.”

She doesn’t hear if Catelyn replies, and Brienne can’t see their facial expressions. Her heart thuds for a moment. She doesn’t like to think of herself as a bully out on the ice. She does a job for her team, it’s not like she’s teaching the kids how to land a right hook. Maege says it all proudly, but Brienne isn’t sure that’s the kind of coach she’d want to be when it comes to children. 

 

 

Sansa doesn’t swear, especially when the judges might hear her, but she comes close to it. She’s better than under-rotating on her last jump and she knows it. She’s practiced that triple toe loop hundreds of times, but she’s messed it up now in front of everyone. Then there’s her layback spin which she knows looked as ugly as it felt. Starting off the season on a total disaster isn’t what she was hoping for. 

She hurries off the ice and storms her way back to the dressing room, trying to keep herself composed. She’s seventeen now, she’s too old to cry over this. Mordane catches up to her on the way and wraps an arm around her. 

“You did well.”

Sansa gives her a withering look. 

“It’s not as bad as you think.” She encourages. “Besides, it’s the first skate of the season. The only way to go is up, sweetheart.” 

“Thanks.” She gives Mordane a tight smile. 

Back in the locker room she pulls on her skate guards and a jacket. In the mirror she checks her makeup and applies a little extra where she looks too shiny from the sweat. She ponders staying back here until the scores are announces but she knows Margaery will be up soon and she should go and watch her. 

She joins Myranda and Jeyne where they are sitting near the spectator stands. Her family is up there somewhere, but she doesn’t want to go through all the trouble to find them. There’re only three more skaters left to go and then she can see them after the scores. 

“They’re going to roast me for that under-rotation.” Sansa sighs, looking over at the judges’ panel. 

“You did great.” Jeyne nudges her. “At least you were actually in time.”

Myranda rolls her eyes and passes Sansa the bag of buttery popcorn she’d bought from the concession stand. Sansa appreciates the warm comfort food. 

They clap when Margaery’s name is announced, and the small, pink figure appears on the ice. She waves to the crowd on her way to center ice smiling like a pageant queen. It’s the same smile they’ve all been taught. The smile that is meant to make judges love them. She stands at center ice and poses in wait. 

The sleek trap beat begins, and Margaery begins her choreography slow. She lifts her arms in sleek, smooth motions and tosses head back. Her long, brown pony tail fans out in the air. Her opening choreography polished to perfection. In two steps she glides forward at speed continuing to dance and twirl before her first jump. Sansa watches as she effortlessly turns onto her backwards outside edge and jumps two double toe loops in rapid succession. She doesn’t jump the highest Sansa has seen, but she’s quick enough that she doesn’t under rotate. As she lands on the same outside edge the crowd politely claps. Margaery has no family up here to cheer for her. 

The lack of family doesn’t seem to bother her at all. She continues the rest of the performance with confidence. She twirls out of her final spin and digs her toe pick into the ice to strike her final pose. The music finishes and Sansa claps loudly. Myranda and Jeyne clap along whispering to each other what they think the judges will give her. 

“Wow, that was really good.”

“I don’t see how they can mark any of those jumps down.”

“I’ve heard they’ve been super harsh grading turns.”

“Oh, well then I’m done for.” Myranda laughs and grabs and handful of popcorn. 

 

They don’t see Margaery until they’re lining up for the score announcements. Margaery rushes over to where Sansa, Jeyne and Myranda are huddled together giving them a nervous smile. They wait with Mordane in the runway where the top three places will skate out to the judges waiting out on the ice to claim their trophies. Around them are the dozen other girls in their category waiting for the results. 

They list the scores off in ascending order, the tense ball in Sansa’s stomach growing as each name is called. Myranda places seventh. Jeyne is in fourth. She’s at least in the top three. 

“Third place goes to Wylla Manderly.”

A slim girl in teal with dyed green hair steps forward. Sansa hadn’t seen her skate, but she looks the part. Sansa hasn’t seen her compete before, or at least not to her memory. She is beautiful with a perfect posture, Sansa notes as she takes to the ice. Even her hair, as unconventional as it seems is tied back in a neat braid. Some judges can be harsh about things as trivial as hair colour, but that hasn’t seemed to stop her. She takes the small glass trophy and shakes an official’s hand. 

Now it’s just down to Sansa and Margaery. Margaery sneaks over and squeezes her hand, Sansa squeezes back. 

“In second place, Sansa Stark.”

Sansa doesn’t react at first. She feels Jeyne and Myranda gently nudge her forward. Thankfully, she remembers to smile for the crowd as she skates towards the rolled-out carpet where the four judges stand. ‘Thank you’s fall from her lips as she shakes their hands and carefully takes her own glass trophy. She skates next to Wylla and gives her a friendly smile. 

“Well done.” She says to her. 

“You too.” Wylla returns. 

“And it first place, we have Margaery Tyrell.” 

Margaery’s skate hits the ice at the same time as they say her name, she smiles and waves to the crowd. She has a slightly larger trophy carved in the shape of a snowflake. A camera flashes, Sansa is close enough for her vision to fill with stars. When she manages to blink them away Margaery is next to her giving Wylla a quick hug and then turning to Sansa. 

“Congratulations.” Sansa says as Margaery’s arms wrap around her. This close she can smell her sweet, flowery perfume. 

“You were amazing.” Margaery says. It’s customary to congratulate and compliment each other after the scores, but they’re not always sincere. Margaery looks sincere and Sansa wants to believe she is. 

For the first competition, Sansa supposes second isn’t too bad. She knows there’s a lot she can improve on for next time. Wylla was only a point behind her and she needs to be better if she wants to catch up to Margaery. They’re still months away from the Winter Festival, when the finest skaters in Westeros come to Winterfell to compete. Sansa will debut her long program there at the Winterfell Ice Garden Stadium. She hasn’t been there in years. Not since the last of the family’s stake in ownership had been sold. 

Ned had loved taking the family them all there to watch the Wights play. Even Sansa, who found hockey completely uninteresting, enjoyed sitting up in the member’s box and listening to her brothers argue over where they’d play when they made it to the WHL. Sansa remained loyal to Winterfell’s team, she still has a grey and white banner tucked away somewhere in her room. It would be nice to see the Ice Garden again. Sometimes she day dreams of skating for her family watching her up in the member’s box. They would look down and watch her spin and jump and dance perfectly. They’d all cheer her own, loud enough she can hear them down on the ice. Sometimes she dreams her father’s voice is there too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be real with you I had the flu this week and uni starts up again soon so I'm not super happy with this chapter. Hopefully things will move along quickly soon. the plot will happen one of these days!


	9. Short Fuse

_Dany: omg idk…. It’ll be so cold!_

_Jon: Come on it shouldn’t get below -10_

_Dany: that cannot be possible how does anyone live there_

_Jon: How does anyone live in Meereen? It’s a desert_

_Dany: It’s nice and warm! It’s not even in the Red Waste!_

Jon has never really enjoyed hot weather. The furthest south he’s been is King’s Landing and that was in winter. It was alright, but Jon didn’t think the south was that interesting. There was nothing there that he can’t find at home up north. Sure, he got sick of a foot of snow in winter, but he’d take that over a sweltering heat any day. There was once a heatwave in Winterfell and it almost drove him to madness. He was born and raised for the cold.

 

Then again, Daenerys was raised in Essos. She’s barely seen snow in her lifetime, which is why Jon insists she should visit the North. Even as Dany talks about her tightknit friends in Essos, Jon can only imagine how lonely it must be having her family half a world away. Well, the parts of her family Dany still keep in contact with. There’s Rhaenys and Aegon in Dorne, and Rhaegar in Dragonstone. Dany hasn’t spoken to her brother since their mother passed away and her father for longer than that. Last time she heard Viserys was in Pentos.

 

All of Dany’s previous solstice plans have gone down the drain since her messy break up with her last boyfriend. Jon thought it only polite to offer a place to stay in Winterfell.

 

_Jon: You said it yourself you need a vacation. Your job is crazy._

She’s still in university doing a double major in international law and linguistics, on top of working for a foreign aid charity as a translator. Honestly, Jon was lost when she mentioned she spoke five languages. One language is more than enough for him. He wonders if he’s missed the greatness gene in his Targaryen heritage.

 

_Dany: idk, I guess it depends how much time I can get off._

“Who are you texting?”

 

“Why do you care?” Jon looks up at Ygritte, wondering how she got into his house. Sure, it’s a share house but last time he checked she wasn’t living here anymore. Tormund probably let her in, the bastard. Ygritte’s eyes twitch at Jon’s defensive reply. She knows him too well not to poke deeper.

 

“Got yourself a girlfriend already?”

 

“Oh Gods.” Jon covers his eyes.

 

“Tor said she was pretty.”

 

“She’s my aunt!” He groans. She stops for a moment and does the arithmetic needed to solve Jon’s particularly fucked branch on the family tree.

 

“You’re talking to _that_ side of the family now?”

 

“Yeah well, sometimes things change when you’re not around.” Jon watches Ygritte drop her duffle bag at his feet and resists the urge to kick it. It would only make her smug if she knew how need she still is under his skin.

 

“Suppose that’s what I deserve,” She says matter-of-factly. “Sorry about all that.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“What?”

 

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

 

“What more do you want from me?”

 

Jon bites his tongue and shakes his head, a hot stream of air blowing out his nose. He still sits slumped down on the couch with her standing over him. It feels like he’s about to get scolded, despite the belief he’s the one who should be doing the scolding. Ygritte watches his shoulders tense and steps away.

 

“I’m not good with all these emotions and shit.” She lets out a sigh and flops down next to him.

 

“You can’t just leave and expect me not to be upset with you.” He says before she can dare call him sensitive.

 

“I know. I just need time by myself.” Time for Ygritte could mean a couple of hours, days, or even months. These sporadic moments came with no warning other than _Jon, I have to go._ Go where? _Anywhere but here._  

 

“Time away from me.” Jon waits but Ygritte doesn’t say a word to deny it.

 

“Yes, but that doesn’t make me love you less.” That’s when it really stings.

 

“What do you want from me, Ygritte?”

 

“I don’t know.” _We’re young,_ Ygritte reasons. _Why do we need to know?_

 

If there is one comfort Jon has right now, it’s venting all his and Ygritte’s ridiculous drama to an empathetic Daenerys. She in turn shares the string of average to very bad relationships she’s had. Unlucky in love must be a Targaryen thing. Looking at his biological father, it unfortunately makes sense. Still, Jon wants nothing more to make this work with Ygritte.

 

“What will it take for us to get this right?” Jon looks down at where Ygritte’s hand is creeping up towards his thigh.

 

“Time. Patience.” She leans in, pale eyes set on his lips.

 

“Sounds painful.” Jon whispers the words on her cheek.

 

“Is Ygritte moving back in?” Gilly’s mousey brown head peaks through the open doorway. “It’ll be nice to have another girl in the house again!”

 

Jon pulls away and hides in the crook of Ygritte’s shoulder. He really needs to get a place on his own. Where ever Gilly is, Sam is never far behind. He bustles into the room after Gilly with little Sam carried on his hip.

 

“He’s gotten so big!” Ygritte gasps at his smiling round face. She reaches up and Sam drops the boy carefully in her lap. She has never shied away from kids. In the brief moments Ygritte had told Jon about her upbringing she mentioned brothers and sisters and cousins. Jon could relate to a big family. It only made it more perplexing every time Ygritte managed to worm her way out of meeting the rest of the Starks. He knows they’d like her. He can imagine her playing soccer in the yard with Rickon, or teasing Theon mercilessly over his latest terrible haircut, or finding common ground with Catelyn. Arya would think she is cool. She doesn’t often realise but Ygritte can be impressionable and charming when she wants to be. If Jon knew better he’d wonder if Ygritte is scared.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The puck is fired down the ice like a gunshot. The loud crack of her stick rings in her ears for a moment as Arya heads back to the bench for a shift change. She manages to squeeze herself through the door and slumps down on the bench. It takes her a moment to get her breath back. They’re tied 3-3 with five minutes left to go. Lyanna groans beside her, complaining about how sore her knees are getting.

 

When Arya finally manages to brush her sweaty fringe out of her eyes, she watches her team mates’ cycle around the goalie looking for an opening. One good shot and the game is theirs. The puck is passed to Beth Cassel. She’s a year younger than Arya and one of the smallest girls on the team. Arya hadn’t been aware she was interested in hockey before now. This must be her first year playing on a team. Despite her newness, she’s a quick learner.

 

As Beth winds up to shoot the puck, an opposing player in a crimson red jersey skate into her. With his stick he bats the puck away, but not before a well-placed elbow knocks Beth over.

 

“What was that!” Lyanna stands up and the rest of the team joins in. Arya turns around to see Coach Tarth fuming. She makes her way towards the gate, but a ref has already helped Beth back up onto her feet. She skates back to her team, auburn ponytail askew. The boy in the red jersey is still standing on the ice. The ref doesn’t call a penalty.

 

“She was knocked over!” Brienne shouts down the ref.

 

“The boy says she tripped.”

 

“Then call a tripping penalty.” She has one hand rested protectively on Beth’s shoulder.

 

“It’s okay, I’m not hurt.” Beth mumbles. “Sorry I couldn’t score, coach.”

 

“It was a great set up and you’ve been passing very well. Keep it up.” Brienne’s tone is encouraging but Arya see’s the anger in her eyes.

 

Arya bites at her lip and wonders what to do. How could the ref not call such an obvious penalty? She glares and the black and white striped man as he continues to skate away and ignore Brienne. It just isn’t fair. No one should be allowed to push around Arya’s team. There is only one thing for it. An idea pops into Arya’s head.

 

She jumps over the boards with Lyanna in tow, making a direct path towards the face-off circle. The boy in the red jersey was still there waiting for the game to resume. Arya takes her place at the center dot, letting out short harsh breaths. She leans in, stick in hand, and looks up at the boy. He has a square nose, hazel eyes, and an overall forgettable face. But it is the face of Little Walder Frey Arya sees behind the boy’s helmet.

 

When the referee drops the puck it only takes a split second to wack the stick out of his hand. Her stick flies after it, and then it’s only a matter of shaking her gloves off. The boy is still frozen in surprise, he doesn’t have time to flinch before Arya launches herself forward. She sinks her fists into his jersey and shoves him hard onto the ice. It all goes so quickly, she doesn’t get time to swing a proper punch before arms are pulling her off the boy. Arya isn’t aware she is yelling until she stops. The rink falls silent.

 

The referee’s arms hold her back as the boy scoots away, still on his butt. She tries to shrug him off, but she can’t.

 

“Yeah Arya!” Lyanna calls out and a few team mates cheer for her too.

 

She is taken down to the locker room where she is given a game penalty and ejected.

 

“What about him?” Arya asks, dumping her helmet on the floor. She hopes he has bruises. None of the referees or organisers answer. A moment later there is a clatter of footsteps outside the locker room and Arya holds her breath.

 

“Arya Stark!” Her mother calls out standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “What in the seven hells was that?”

 

“Self-defence.” She shrugs.

 

“You jumped at that poor boy before he could defend himself!”

 

“He hurt my team mate.” Arya frowns, feeling a boiling heat rush through her veins. “Someone had to do something!”

 

“You’re not playing hockey to hurt people. What if he had hit his head and hurt himself?”

 

“I hope he is hurt!”

 

Catelyn pauses for a moment. In a moment like this Cat wishes Ned was here. Not that he could be a better parent, but so that Cat wouldn’t have to do this alone. Arya had always had a short temper, but it was mediated by her humour and intelligence. Even when she was little, Ned would always sit Arya down and talk to her about the mistakes she made. Arya is curious, she needed to know _why this_ and _why that._ Ned always tried to give her a good answer. When Arya believes in something, she does it wholeheartedly. When it goes wrong, she lashes out. Her fights with Sansa used to get petty. Arya has a strong idea of justice, but perhaps a better word for it would be revenge.

 

Before Cat can figure out what to say next, Brienne Tarth walks into the room. Her head is down, and her shoulders are slouched. She combs her short blonde hair for a moment before informing Arya the team lost.

 

“Never mind that,” Cat huffs. “We need to talk about Arya’s behaviour.”

 

Brienne nods. “I know you just wanted to protect your friend, but-”

 

“It’s completely unacceptable. I’m not sending my daughter here twice a week if she’s going to be a danger to the others.”

 

“Mum!” Arya cries. She can’t lose hockey. She’s good at hockey. She can’t let that be taken away from her.

 

“She’s not a danger, she just wanted to protect her friend.”

 

“I can’t see how beating up people protects anyone. Is this what you’ve been teaching my daughter?” Cat glares at the coach with icy blue eyes.

 

“No,” Brienne blinks. “I would never.”

 

Catelyn doesn’t look to be convinced by that answer. She looks Brienne up and down, pausing for a moment at her bruised knuckles from last night’s game. It felt like damning evidence, but Brienne would never. What she does in her games is different. She doesn’t want any kids to get hurt.

 

“Get changed, Arya. I’ll be waiting outside the door.”

 

Cat stews outside for several minutes before Arya reappears with her packed hockey bag. She never should have let Arya play. Not after everything Ned had worked towards came apart. She better than most people knew the risks a game like hockey came with. When Robert died so early from brain trauma and substance abuse, it had been Ned who championed justice for him. How many professional players are living with head injuries and CTE? Cat had seen the hours of research Ned had poured into the lawsuit before it all came undone again. Somehow, she thought women’s hockey might be different. She thought it could keep Arya safe. Perhaps she is wrong.

 

The walk out to the car without saying a word. Arya is silently fuming and on the verge of tears. She keeps her head low so no one else can see. Only when they’re both buckled up and the key is in the ignition Cat talks to her again.

 

“I’m disappointed, Arya. I thought you would have known better.”

 

“Don’t make me give up hockey.” She sniffs.

 

“I won’t.” Cat tells her, knowing that deep down she can’t. Besides, people telling Arya no has never stopped her before. She cut her hair off and snuck onto a boys’ team for heaven’s sake. “But we need to talk about this. Why did you do it?”

 

“He was a bully, mum. He could have hurt Beth, and no one did anything! The refs just ignored her! I couldn’t just sit there.”

 

“Well, that’s not fair.”

 

“Everything’s not fair.” Arya slouches down and tucks her knees up to her chest. “Especially boys. They’re so mean and stupid. I wanted to play on my old team, but they just kicked me out and it just wasn’t fair mum!”

 

“I’m sorry.” Cat says guiltily. She hadn’t fought with the league when Arya was barred. Secretly she was relieved that it would be less violent playing with more girls. How wrong she had been.

 

“It makes me so angry.”

 

“Were you angry when you hit that boy?”

Arya nods.

 

“Well how about this: you can keep playing hockey and once a week I take you to a councillor to talk about your anger.”

 

“A shrink?” Arya scrunches up her nose.

 

“We all need help at times, there’s nothing wrong with that. Sansa sees one every now and then. Sports psychologists are huge now. All I’m asking is that we give it a try.”

 

Arya doesn’t say no, so Cat takes that as a yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, my fav fanfic trope: getting characters into therapy.   
> finally having Brienne and Cat interacting/conflict after all this set up! Wow!


	10. Trigonometry Blues

Rickon takes the last of the toast, so Sansa is stuck with oatmeal for breakfast. It’s not her ideal start for a Monday morning. She has a geography test today and another assignment due by the end of the week. Her senior year is really starting to catch up with her. She sneaks a peak at her study notes over the breakfast counter, but Cat catches her in the act.

 

“No books at the table,” She tells her. “You too, mister.”

 

Bran finally looks up from his book for the first time all morning. He closes it with a sigh and puts it down next to his bowl. Sansa peers over at the cover.

 

“Since when have you read Blood Raven?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“It’s a romance novel.” Sansa smirks.

 

“Is not!” Bran’s face flushes. Rickon begins to laugh at him.

 

“It’s literally all about a love triangle.”

 

“It’s more than that! There’s adventure and betrayal-”

 

 “And _looove.”_ Sansa sings, just to annoy him further.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with reading a romance novel, Bran.” Cat says after swallowing a mouthful of muesli. She secretly winks in Sansa’s direction.

“It’s _not_ a romance.”

 

“Just you wait until book two.”

 

The discussion dissolves into Bran messily threatening Sansa if she dares to tell him spoilers. Sansa is pleased with her work. As on of two sisters, she had to work hard to keep the boys on their toes. They were constantly playing pranks on her because she was an easy target. It seems only fair she now gets to fight back with a bit of teasing.

 

“What does it matter? It’s just a dumb book and you’re both nerds.” Rickon grumbles, still wiping sleep from his eyes. Like any good mother, Cat tries to remind him reading books can be good for him, but her advice falls on deaf ears as Arya stomps into the kitchen. She’s changed into her school uniform and her hair should still be dripping wet from the shower only…

 

Where once her shoulder length brown hair was is now gone. It’s been cut, rather savagely, into a short and spiky mess.

 

“What?” Arya asks when she catches them all staring at her.

 

“Arya,” Cat groans. “Again? Really?”

 

“It was getting too long.”

 

“Did you even look in the mirror this time?” Sansa says, on the verge of disbelief. It was one thing when Arya cut her hair off the first time, but this came as a complete surprise. Cat doesn’t even want to know how many times the school is going to ring her today. Looks like she’ll have to clear out her morning schedule.

 

“Get back upstairs and I’ll help you clean it up.” Cat watches two very uneven cowlicks stick up at the back of her head and fights the urge to groan. “Everyone else finish breakfast and getting ready.”

 

“She better not makes me late, I have a test in first period!” Sansa stands up and carries her plate to the sink. Arya pulls a face behind her back.

 

“It doesn’t need cleaning up. I like it messy.” She almost manages to withstand Cat’s glare before retreating upstairs. First hockey and now this? What is going on with her?

 

“If you want your hair short, you can have it how ever you like it.” Cat tells her as she runs over the nape of her neck with clippers. “But please just tell me and I can book an appointment with a proper barber.”

 

“Am I in trouble?”

 

“Not yet,” Cat wonders if she should be. She’d already booked in a counselling session for Arya and she’s grounded for the rest of the week, but Cat isn’t sure if she should be punished for this. More so, Cat is just worried about her.  “But you will be if you make Sansa late.”

 

Thankfully, Sansa arrives on time for her test. It’s a tense moment when they got out of the car and everyone at school sees Arya. Sansa turns and flees, desperately wishing for a sister that wasn’t so embarrassing. Mya Stone said that Arya looked cool, but she is just being polite. Arya is just doing this all for attention and Sansa isn’t going to fall for it. Beating up some kid at a hockey game wasn’t bad enough for her it seems. Sansa doesn’t want her own reputation in jeopardy. She knows the comments people sometimes make about Arya. They think she’s a little weird, a little too outspoken. Sansa wishes she could get them to like her, but Arya doesn’t want to be liked, nor does she seem to need Sansa to defend her.

 

An exam at 8:45am is harsh, but Sansa manages. She walks out of the class an hour and a half later and doesn’t think she’s completely failed. The schedule for the rest of the day is much lighter. She has English and history, then rounds off the day with math after lunch.

 

 

She spends the end of lunch with Margaery as they meander their way towards the building of classrooms near the back of the school.  They discuss their routines for the long program in the upcoming Winter Festival. It is less that two months away and they need to be at their best. Sansa has completely restructured her program, finally taking up Mordane’s advice to amp up the difficulty on her jumps. She’s added more complex triples but her main focus is a perfect double axel.

 

With such a prestigious event they’ve been advised to select more traditional music. Sansa has chosen a piece from The Winds of Winter: a classical opera set in a town during a ten-year long winter. The opera is a favourite in the north. Sansa is skating to the piece near the end of the last act where the female lead is abandoned by her husband for a southron lady. In her grief she walks into a snow storm in search of her lover but instead catches an illness and dies. It isn’t a particularly happy story, but it’s hard to deny a crowd favourite.

 

New programs mean new costumes. Sansa and Margaery have poured over online catalogues searching for the perfect outfit. Quietly, Sansa hopes Margaery chooses a more modest costume this time. She still thinks Margaery’s last hot pink mini skirt looked wonderful, but last week she had heard what the other girls were saying about it.

 

They had a competition over in Torrhen’s Square, Jeyne’s mother had driven them down for the day. Margaery had skated just as well as she had many times before, but that day she didn’t even place. Sansa was shocked to come in first when she knew Margaery had skated much better. Afterwards she heard the other girls at the competition whisper how Margaery’s costume had been too unprofessional. Surely, she hadn’t been marked down for something as silly as that, Sansa wondered. Margaery didn’t seem upset at her poor result and was happy for Sansa. Harsh criticism never bothers Margaery, a trait she envies.

 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited that my family is coming up to see me for Solstice, but I wish the competition didn’t start the day after.” Margaery says as they climb the stairwell up to the third floor. “I had to turn down seeing this guy I’ve been texting.”

 

“Oh?” Sansa says surprised. Margaery had never mentioned a boy she’d been talking to.

 

“He invited me to this gorgeous winter lodge his family owns up near Castamere. It looks so pretty, I can’t believe I had to cancel.”

 

“So, is he your boyfriend or…?”

 

Margaery blushes. “I don’t know, we only met this summer. He’s a total babe but sometimes I can’t tell if he likes me or not.”

 

“Of course he likes you.” Sansa assures her. How could anyone not?

“Here,” Margaery fishes out her phone from a skirt pocket and opens her camera roll. “We met on the beach and just really hit it off. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

 

Sansa looks down at the photo on her phone. In the corner is Margaery in a multicoloured bikini, and large round sunglasses perched on her nose. Her cheek is pressed against a golden skinned torso. In the center of the image is a sharp face framed with golden curls. Thin lips peeled back into a sly grin and a pair of all too familiar green eyes. Sansa feels her stomach drop.

 

_It can’t be him._

It’s been years since she last saw him. He looks virtually unchanged, his jaw a little sharper and his shoulders a little broader, but there’s no mistaking it. Joffrey.

 

“Sansa?”

 

“What?” Sansa finally looks away from the photo.

 

“Are you alright?” She studies Sansa’s face carefully.

 

“I’m fine.” Sansa pushes away towards the classroom where Margaery can’t see the tears prick her eyes.

 

She still sits next to Sansa when class starts, but neither of them speak. Sansa tries to keep breathing deeply but her throat is starting to constrict. In the corner of her eye she sees the glances Margaery sends her way, but she ignores it. It doesn’t matter. She just needs to focus on making it through class.

 

_Isn’t he gorgeous?_

 

Words Sansa had thought a hundred times. She had been a stupid little girl in a new city when a handsome boy took notice of her. Attention like that had made her feel like a princess until it gradually turned from adoration to cruelty. She had only seen the beauty, not the monster within. She is just so stupid.

 

She hasn’t been listening since the lesson started. She looks down at her open notebook where no notes have been written down. She closes her eyes for a moment before raising her hand.

 

“May I please be excused to go to the bathroom?”

 

Margaery looks up at her and frowns when the teacher nods and continues her lesson plan. Sansa quickly turns away and heads to the door. It’s a quick trip back down the stairwell to the bathroom on the first floor. It’s mercifully empty as Sansa rushes into a cubicle and shuts the door behind her. When the lock clicks into place she can’t hold it in any longer. First, one tear drips down her nose followed by another. She blinks them away but more fill her eyes. Her nose stings as she wipes at her face if a square of toilet paper.

 

Why can that boy never leave her life for good? Four years was almost enough for her to try to forget it, but now it rushes back in like a tidal wave. How was she so stupid to think she’d ever be free of him? Joffery has probably told Margaery awful things about her. Margaery must only be her friend so they can laugh about her behind Sansa’s back.

 

_Stupid, stupid, stup-_

She hears the whine of the bathroom door open and the click of shoes walking across tiles. Sansa holds her breath and prays that no one heard her from outside. She would die of time if anyone found her like this.

 

“Sansa?” Margaery’s careful voice calls out. “Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine.” Sansa winces at the sound of her own voice so wet and shaky. She watches Margaery’s black shoes appear in the gap beneath the stall door.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

Sansa considers it for a moment, but what else does she have to lose? She’d already found Sansa in this sorry state. She unlocks the door and pulls in open for Margaery to shuffle in. She moves over until they can both fit squashed together sitting on the toilet seat lid.

 

“When you didn’t come back, I asked to go look for you. I don’t know what I did Sansa but I’m so sorry. Please let me fix it.”

 

Sansa turns to Margaery in surprise to see her wiping away tears in her eyes. Did she really not know? Did Joffery not tell her?

 

“It’s a long story I…I don’t know if I should tell you.” She says carefully.

 

“Please. Is this about Joffery?”

 

“I can’t right now,” Sansa worries how much longer before a teacher comes to find them. “Can we talk about this after school?”

 

“Of course.” Margaery nods quickly and squeezes an arm around Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woof, sorry this took so long. I'm back at uni so I didn't find time to write and honestly it was hard for me to write Sansa upset. I was worrying about the backstory I have planned with Sansa but I'll stick to my guns and hopefully have that up some time soon.


	11. Coffee and Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes at the start of the chapter: please be aware there will be discussion of an abusive relationship and an attempted sexual assault. There are no graphic details but if this is a sensitive topic for you please be aware. 
> 
> I will update the rating to reflect this.

Sansa sits, cradling a hot cup of chai tea while Margaery waits for her vanilla latte to be ready. They agreed to grab a warm drink from a little café down the road and take it back to Margaery’s dorm.  Arya and Rickon have already left for home, Sansa will catch a later bus. As she takes a sip of her drink (with an extra dollop of honey) the warmth seeps into her. From the seat by the window she can see the wind picking up outside. While the sky is overcast it hopefully shouldn’t rain for a few hours yet. It will only be another week before the possibility of snow.

 

Margaery returns with her gloved hands clutching a latte. The steam rises from the lidless cup as she inhales deeply through her nose.

 

“Did you want to talk here or go back to my room?” Margaery asks.

 

“Your room.” Sansa stands up and feels a bubble of anxiety fizz up in her stomach. She takes a gulp and wills herself to be calm. She needs to do this.

 

It’s a ten-minute walk to the dormitory. By the time they’re back in the room, they’ve polished off both their drinks. Margaery tosses her empty cup into the bin by her desk and sits down on her narrow bed. Sansa sits down next to her as Margaery kicks off her shoes. There’s a tense moment of silence. Where does she even begin?

 

“You know who Joffrey’s dad is.”

 

“He was a hockey player or something wasn’t he?”

 

Sansa nods. “And he was best friends with my dad. Him, my sister and I moved to Kings Landing for a year so he could work on a lawsuit Robert started. Then I met Joffrey.”

 

Margaery doesn’t interrupt. She watches Sansa intently as she continues the story. Sansa was a wide eyed thirteen-year-old in the bustling metropolis of Kings Landing for the first time. She started a new school delighted to be welcomed in by the most popular boy on campus. He was a year or two older than her, and he was just so cool. Sansa was immediately enthralled.

 

Sansa hadn’t seen the warning signs at first. The red flags were hidden behind the horizon just out of view. Sometimes Joffrey would come to school in a black mood. If Sansa said one wrong word, he’d snap at her. Sansa learned quickly it was best to say nothing at all when he was like that. Besides, he always apologised afterwards, and it was just so easy to forgive him. She knows he didn’t mean it.

 

Then there was the playful teasing, the jokes that prodded at her looks or thoughts or feelings. It was just a joke, Sansa was being too sensitive. Joffrey wasn’t perfect, but Sansa supposed no one was. She could fix his flaws if she tried hard enough to be good and gentle and gave him what he wanted. She was just so happy when he was happy. When Joffrey paid her attention nothing else in the world mattered.

 

Sansa tried her hardest to comfort Joffrey when his father died. He didn’t seem to want comforting. Sansa was being too much. It was her fault. She reached to hold his hand and Joffrey pushed her away. It was only a little push. It didn’t hurt. There was no need to be a baby about it. He was grieving, she had to be understanding.

 

Three months later Sansa returns to Kings Landing from the funeral in Winterfell. She returns to the city alone. Arya is at home and her father isn’t there anymore. She doesn’t dare cry in front of Joffrey. He can’t stand when she cries. She would lie awake each night and beg the gods to stop her tears from falling. She had to stop being so weak.

 

Joffrey just seemed so impatient. There was something he wanted, always dancing on the tip of his tongue, something Sansa wasn’t sure she could give to him. Then came the night Joffrey didn’t need to ask. They were at a house party hosted by one of Joffrey’s friends Sansa had never met before. Red plastic cups were passed around, but Sansa refused. Joffrey sneered at her until a cup was pressed into her hand. She cradled it carefully and only took a few sips. Joffrey had had more that a few sips.

 

He wanted to take her somewhere. His friend’s parents were away for the weekend. They had the whole house to themselves. Joffrey took her by the hand and led her up staircases and down long marble hallways. Every friend of Joffrey was rich. Richer than her family, Joffrey always reminded her.

 

Joffrey looked the happiest Sansa had seen him in a long time. She went along with it. They stumbled into a bedroom laughing. When he kissed her, she tried not to be bothered by the sour taste in his mouth. Joffrey was _happy,_ she had to make him _happy._ For months now Sansa was willing to do anything Joffrey said, to go with the flow, to be cool, but it all screeched to a halt when his hand wandered up her thigh.

 

_No,_ she had said. Her faced flushed horribly and she looked away.

 

_Come on,_ he said. His green eyes glittered like pieces of sea glass. _Come on Sansa._

_I can’t._

_Yes you can._

_Joff, please._

_You talk to much,_ he kissed her again. Harder. His hands were back.

 

_No._ She surged forward pushing him off. His head hit the door behind him with a thunk. He looked up at her, mouth trembling in fury. His hands curled into fists.

 

_You’re such a slut_ He told her. Sansa reached her hand out towards the doorknob, but Joffrey grabbed her and squeezed tightly.

 

_Let go_ she whispered, trying to shake herself free. When had he been so strong? She stomped the heel of her shoe down on his foot. He let go with a yelp and Sansa bolted.

 

_Get back here!_ He screamed. Sansa didn’t look back. She kept running until she found a door that led outside. She ran into the night, wondering the streets until she found a bus stop. She begged the bus driver to take her, he looked at her tear streaked face and didn’t say a work. From the inner city she wondered back to High Hill and unsuccessfully snuck back into her room. She had detention for a week for coming back late.

 

At school on Monday Joffrey didn’t say a word to her. He didn’t need to. He’d already told the whole school that Sansa was a slut and a bitch. Everyone she thought was a friend turned their back on her.

 

“That’s awful.” Margaery says. Sansa looks over to see her friend close to tears. “Oh, gods I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

 

She pulls Margaery into a hug.

 

“I went home a few weeks later. They can believe all the lies they want. I’m home now and no one will hurt me.” Sansa knows her brothers and sister, her mother and aunts and uncles would never let that happen again. She isn’t alone anymore.

 

“You’re so brave.” Margaery whispers. Sansa is surprised. For a long time, she didn’t feel brave or kind or smart at all. She didn’t think she was anything.

 

Margaery pulls away for a moment to grab her phone. “Right.” She says.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I’m telling him we’re over. No way I’m ever talking to that monster again.” Her fingers fly over the on-screen keyboard.

 

“I’m just glad he didn’t hurt you.”

 

Margaery looks up at Sansa with a look on her face Sansa can’t quite pinpoint. Her eyes are soft, her mouth turned down. It’s not sadness or anger or relief or worry. Maybe she pities her.

 

“He never will, and you’ll never have to see that rotten face again.”

 

There’s a lightness Sansa feels flutter through her chest. She wasn’t aware she had been holding onto it but now the words are out she’s relieved.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brienne is proud to say that there isn’t much that bothers her. After years of shovelling through a mountain of bullshit she’s toughened her skin plenty. She’s been called many things on and off the ice. Bitch, cunt, dyke, and words much worse than that. She’s heard them enough the maliciousness is lost on her. Words are just words. She’s not going to let sounds and syllables from ignorant mouths hurt her.

 

Looks on the other hand, what does she do when someone looks at her? When their eyes judge her, she can’t make them look away. There’s no rebuttal when the message is non-verbal. The glare Catelyn Stark gave her that Saturday still lingers in her thoughts. How her eyes took in her lumbering frame, her broken nose and chipped teeth. It wasn’t disgust, Brienne knew that look well. It was something worse, disapproval.

 

So why the hell does Brienne care what this woman thinks of her? There’s a specific brand of suburban mother that clutch their pearls at the sight of her, Brienne isn’t unfamiliar with disdain. Women who aren’t pretty and polite send the wrong message. Women who dare take up the space of men are dangerous. An unapologetic dyke was a bad influence. The suburban mother never dared say it to her, but a single look is enough to get the point across.

 

When she told Jaime what had happened, he gave her the same advice he’d given her a hundred times before: “Who gives a fuck what they think of you?”

 

Unfortunately, not caring what parents thought of her is a quick way to ger her fired. Which begs the question Brienne asks herself this morning as she stares into the bathroom mirror: how does she make herself more acceptable?

 

She wipes the sleep from her eyes and the crust of toothpaste from the corner of her mouth. It’s a start at least. She hasn’t owned a proper face wash since she was a teenager, is that something she needs? Her skin is dried out enough as it is from all the cold air, she’s been stealing pumps of Jaime’s expensive aloe vera moisturiser to deal with it. There’s a chap stick somewhere in one of her jean pockets, maybe she should try that.

 

In the bathroom cabinet is a lightly used tub of hair wax, the kind she only brings out for job interviews and when it’s necessary to take a photo of her. Jaime has pomades and gels and all kinds of mysterious substances Brienne has no idea what they’re all for. She suspects one or two must be for hair loss. There’s no way he wears a helmet all day and his hair stays so thick without intervention. Jaime has had long hair and short hair and he always knows just what to do with it. Brienne has had the same haircut for a decade and is still mystified. Should she grow it out? That’s sounds like too much work.

 

Brienne leans in closer until the crooked tip of her nose presses against the glass. She isn’t quite sure how many times she’s broken it. There’s a faint scar on her cheek from an unlucky incident with a skate blade. Six years and it’s almost completely faded. Freckles and acne scars are scattered across her face. Each year the creases in her forehead deepen. From here she can spot one or two grey hairs hidden around her pale curls. Brienne doesn’t believe she’s aging particularly well.

 

It’s no use. She can’t make herself look more approachable. Her body is all jagged shapes and rough edges. A square jaw, a wideset frame, legs as thick as trees and hands as rough as sandpaper. Where her skin isn’t cracked and pale from dryness, its covered in cuts or bruises or scars. There was a time when she was still proud of how mean she looked. When she was still in her twenties and invincible, she had pride. When she moved to the city for the first time, anxiously navigating clubs and bars she was surprised when people payed her positive attention. Brienne will never be beautiful but sometimes she feels she is something else. Something more important than that.

 

For as harsh and tough as she made herself to be, it is fair to acknowledge she isn’t completely horrible to look at, her brain reasoned. Still, how does she make herself look like she doesn’t beat people up for a living? She decides to put a pin in that question for now.

 

Tonight, she has her first practice with the team since the disaster on Saturday. She doesn’t even know if Arya will be there, but she desperately hopes so. She’s an asset and if they want to keep the team going, they need her. That all depends on Catelyn Stark. Brienne wishes she had paid more attention when they were first introduced, she could have a proper read on her. She knows barely anything about this woman aside from the fact she has at least two daughters and hates Jaime.

 

Brienne blinks at herself in the mirror. Well. That could be a start.

 

“How do you know Catelyn Stark?”

 

“Gods” Jaime curses. “It’s ten in the morning.”

 

Brienne throws a pillow at him. “I’ve got that fancy coffee machine of yours running.”

 

He immediately perks up, face appearing from under the covers. Brienne leaves him to get out of bed and waits for him in the kitchen. He appears five minutes later in plaid pyjama pants and a grey shirt with his brother’s face on it.

 

“Do you have to wear that?”

“What? It’s his logo. I’m advertising his podcast.”

 

“To all the people currently in this apartment?”

 

Jaime bustles past her towards the coffee machine. “Why did you get me up again?”

 

“I want to know how you know Catelyn Stark.”

 

“We’re going to need a lot more coffee for that.” He winces. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Her daughter, the one I’m coaching, she’s a bit of a handful.”

 

“Runs in the family.”

 

“I want to know how I make her not hate me.”

 

Jaime laughs. “She doesn’t hate you. Trust me, you’d know when she hates you.”

 

“Come on, give me something to work with here. What am I missing?” She sits leans against the breakfast bar firmly telling Jaime she isn’t letting this go. Jaime obliges, pulling up a stool and taking a deep drink from his mug.

 

“Sometimes I forget you weren’t around for that particular fiasco. It was a bit before your time. I first got to know her when her husband’s best friend married my sister. From the start I was never really a fan of Rob, I guess the feeling was mutual. He played for the Fury I was on the Lions it was a natural rivalry, and I can just tell Eddard Stark didn’t like me either.”

 

“That’s Catelyn’s husband?” Brienne frowns, the name sounds familiar, but she can’t quite place it.

 

“Comes from a bigshot family that owned just about every commercial rink in the North. For a long time up here the name Stark was synonymous with ice and ice hockey. Old man Stark’s first son was meant to inherit the family business but when he and his son pass it all goes to Eddard. Problem is he’s already running a law firm with a wife and kids, so he sells off most of the company, sits on a small fortune and plays happy families.”

 

Brienne holds her tongue, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

“Then his best friend Rob gets sick. Drug and alcohol abuse, brain damage from his short and violent hockey career. Ned Stark rushes to his best friend’s side and promised to take care of his family and his legacy. Now you see, Robert Baratheon’s family is also my family. My sister Cersei divorced his sorry ass years ago and has custody of the kids. They want nothing to do with him. But Ned Stark as _so much honour,_ he just can’t let his promise go. So, he does what he does best and takes the fucking thing to court.”

 

That’s when she remembers. Eddard Stark had begun the infamous court case suing the WHL for the damage brain injuries have cost their players. It had been controversial with many players past and present coming out in support of it, and others as equally against.

 

“He’s looking for players whose injuries have been mistreated under the WHL, so of course he comes to me.”

 

Brienne’s eyes widen. She’d never known about that. Looking back, it makes sense. Jaime had several highly publicised injuries during his career. His concussions where a story in itself not eve going into his hand and arm.

 

“He gives me the whole pitch about doing good and making a difference. He wants to make sure no one in hockey ever suffers a brain injury again.” Jaime huffs out a bitter laugh. “I tell him I’ll think about it, and honestly, I did.”

 

“Then my father calls. He tells me he has great news. The WHL has hired his firm to defend them. I tell him what Ned Stark told me and he actually laughed. He didn’t need to say a thing I knew what I had to do. I mean, it’s my dad. He’s family. I told Stark I couldn’t help him, and I could just tell by the look on his face, every suspicion he ever had about me came true. Who the fuck is he to look down at me?”

 

“What did he do?”

 

“He died two weeks later. Scheduled for a regular knee operation and had a stroke. His crusade died with him and every mention of the word lawsuit was swept under the rug. It was a terrible tragedy.” Jamie says with no insincerity.

 

“So no, Lannister isn’t a popular name with Starks.”

 

Brienne rubs at her temples. That is a lot more than she thought it would be. If Catelyn sees her with Jaime, is she hated by association? She feels a pang of sadness when she recalls Catelyn. She can’t imagine the pain of losing a spouse so suddenly.

 

“Does that help?”

 

“Nope.” Brienne walks back to the bathroom.

 

“Never does.” Jaime says to his coffee.

 

The afternoon rolls around and to Brienne’s surprise, Arya arrives to practice on time. Brienne double takes when she sees her hair now shorn back into a messy undercut. Lyanna bounds into the locker room after her, recounting the drama that went down in her biology class. A quick glance around the rink confirms Catelyn is no where to be seen.

 

As the team hits the ice for warm ups, Brienne takes Arya aside. Arya trundles back down the hallway in her skates, her face expressionless.

 

“So, uh, Saturday.”

 

“I’m sorry coach. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

 

“I understand why you did it. It was very brave for you to stand up from a team mate.”

 

Arya looks up at Brienne surprised.

 

“But uh,” How does she say this with out being a hypocrite? “You probably shouldn’t hit people.”

 

Her words fall flat, and Arya raises and eyebrow at her.

“You know in hockey enforcers have a code.” She begins. No going back now. “You don’t start a fight with someone who doesn’t want to fight you.”

 

“Well what if I want to fight someone and they want to fight me back?”

 

Brienne puts her head in her hands. Hockey was a mistake. _Don’t be like me, kid,_ she desperately wants to tell her.

 

“You’re too good to be an enforcer. We need you out there on the ice racking up points, not sitting in the penalty box like a goon.” It’s not by any means a good reason. Someone wiser would make the argument to Arya that it’s immoral to try and hurt other people over something as trivial as a hockey game, but Brienne is not wise enough for that.

 

“My mum told me I’m not allowed to fight anymore.”

 

“Good, she’s right. You know, the Winter Festival is coming up.”

 

“So?”

 

“The Wights are looking for junior teams to play during their intermission. Word on the street is a really good team around here might have a chance at being selected if they keep working hard.”

 

“Really?”

 

Cassel had told her about it last week during a staff meeting. The Wights play an annual outdoor game and as far as the festival goes, it’s a big event. Brienne isn’t sure what their chances are of being selected are, but she knows Arya likes incentives.

 

“Keep playing well and leave the goon-ing to me, okay?”

 

“Yes, Coach.”

 

“Keep it off the ice and if they’re really a douche you can always fight them after in the parking lot.”

 

“Yes, Coach.” Arya grins. Oh, Brienne really shouldn’t have said that. Arya hurries back over the ice and Brienne calls out for one last thing.

 

“Cool haircut.”

 

“Thanks, Coach.”


	12. Chamomile and Broccoli

The room smells slightly of chamomile, she remembers Sansa saying it has calming properties. Arya wouldn’t say she’s calm, but she sees no need to freak out right now. Besides, it would cause a scene. She leans further back in the plastic chair and crosses her arms. A TV in the corner of the waiting room is playing a cartoon show. Arya isn’t interested in things as childish as that, but her eyes are drawn to the bright colours. She’s only waited for fifteen minutes but it feels like hours.

 

There’s a quiet creaking noise from down the hall as a door opens.

 

“Arya Stark?” A man’s voice calls out. Arya looks up towards the man walking towards her. He is tall, with greying auburn hair tied back in a ponytail. He wears a black and white patterned sweater over a shirt and tie.

 

Arya stands to meet him.

 

“I am Jaqen H’ghar. Nice to meet you.” He reaches forward to carefully shake her hand.

 

“Hi,” Arya says.

 

“My room is this way.” He speaks with a soft accent. “Your mother can join us if you’d like.”

 

Arya looks back at her mother still sitting down in the seat next to hers. She shrugs and stays quiet while Arya decides.

 

“Are you alright waiting out here?” Arya asks her.

 

“Of course.” Cat smiles.

 

Arya follows Jaqen out of the waiting room and into a small carpeted space with a desk in the corner and two sofas facing each other in the center of the room. Jaqen sits down in one and nods for Arya to take the other. She sits down slowly, looking down at her muddy sneakers and hoping they haven’t left any streaks on the carpet. That seems like a bad way to start this.

 

“How are we doing?” Jaqen starts off with a question.

 

“Alright.”

 

“Have you ever been to a psychologist before?”

 

Arya shakes her head.

 

“Okay, good. My job here is to help you. We can talk about anything you’d like; any feelings or thoughts, anything bothering you, and sometimes we might look at strategies to help you work through these thoughts and feelings. Everything you say here is confidential, I won’t talk to your parents or teachers or anyone unless a situation arises where you’re unsafe. Does that make sense?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good. So, how about we start getting to know each other. Do you mind if I take down some notes?”

 

Arya then notices the small notepad he has on his lap. She shrugs and lets him continue.

 

“I usually start with drawing a quick family tree. People you live with, people who are important to you, just so I can get an idea.”

 

_Oh here we go,_ Arya thinks to herself. Jaqen leans forward with the notepad so Arya can see as he begins to draw a line with her name written underneath.

 

“Arya Stark, fourteen years old, yes?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good, so where do we go next on your family tree?”

 

“There’s my mum and dad. Catelyn, you saw her before. My dad’s name was Eddard. He died a few years ago.”

 

Jaqen pauses for a moment before saying “I am sorry for your loss.” He says it with no pity or coddling Arya has come to expect from grownups. He says it earnestly and almost matter-of-fact. Arya had thought she’d be starting this on the defensive, but Jaqen isn’t trying to get a rise out of her. He’s just listening to her.

 

“And then I have my siblings.” Arya continues. “My older brother Robb, he’s twenty. Then my, er, half-brother Jon.”

 

“Half-brother?” Jaqen looks up at her.

 

“Kind of. It’s complicated. He’s actually my cousin but my parents adopted him when he was a baby, so he’s always just been my brother.”

 

“Okay,” Jaqen writes down Jon’s name next to a squiggly line with a question mark. “Who is next?”

 

“Sansa is seventeen. Then there’s me. Then my brothers Bran and then Rickon. Then I have a kind of foster brother Theon, but we’re not actually related.”

 

“I think I need a bigger piece of paper.” Jaqen says delicately. Arya laughs. “You have a big family. Do you get on well?”

 

“We’re usually pretty close. I fight with my sister sometimes but she’s still family, you know?”

 

“What do you fight about?”

 

“Stupid stuff usually, like who gets what thing. We’re the only girls in the family, so sometimes they tried to make us share stuff and that never worked. We’re very different.”

 

“How so?”

 

“She’s girly. Likes dancing and pretty things and boys. I’m not really like that.”

 

“What sort of things do you like?”

 

“I don’t know…Hockey. Video games. Sports.”

 

“Cool.” Jaqen smiles and flips over a page. “So, Arya, what would you like to talk about today?”

 

“My mum says I need to come here because I have a temper.”

 

“Do you want to talk about that?”

 

“I don’t really care, she said if I come here and talk to you about it then I get to keep playing hockey.”

 

“Do you think you have a temper?”

 

“Sometimes.” Arya bites her lip. “It’s just annoying. There’s so much that’s unfair and people get mad at _me_ when I point it out.”

 

“What sort of things are unfair?”

 

“I’m not allowed to play on boys teams anymore, even though I’m better than all of them. Boys are stupid.”

 

“But you want to play on their team, even though you say they’re stupid?”

 

“Well yeah, because their teams are better than the girl’s team. And I have friends there.”

 

“It’s a shame you can’t play with your friends. Have you made any friends on your new team?”

 

“One, I guess.” Arya thinks of Lyanna. She’s considered a friend, right? “She’s cool but I don’t know.”

 

“Don’t know?”

 

“I don’t really have many friends. The other girls at school don’t like me and I only have hockey friends.”

 

“Are there people you hang out with when you’re at school?”

 

Arya thinks. There’s Lyanna, but she’s still new to Arya. Before then she drifted between social groups, always in the outer orbit. Sometimes there were people she knew through school sport. Mya Stone seemed to like her, but she was much older than her. Sansa didn’t like when Arya talked to girls in her year.

 

“Not really. Most of them think I’m weird.”

 

“Why do they think that?”

 

Arya almost laughs and gestures to all of herself. “I’m not really like the other girls. They don’t like my hair or how I look. I don’t like talking about girly things. The boys don’t like me either. I don’t fit in with either of them. I said it. I’m weird.”

 

“Does anyone at school call you weird?”

 

“Yeah.” Arya huffs. “I know lots of people call me stuff behind my back, but I don’t really care what they think of me anymore. Sometimes the boys call me stuff.”

 

“What do they call you?”

 

“Weirdo. Horse-face. Ferret. Loser.”

 

“Sounds like they’re bullies.”

 

Arya shrugs.

 

“Do they make you angry?”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

“Do you tell anyone about them?”

 

“No. It doesn’t matter, no one will do anything about it.”

 

“How do you know they won’t do anything?”

 

“Big people always pick on people smaller than them. It’s always like that. Like at my hockey game last weak this boy knocked over one of my team mates and he didn’t get in trouble. So I push him back and it gets me in trouble instead? It’s not fair.”

 

“Was he hurt?”

 

“No. I didn’t…I didn’t want to hurt him. I couldn’t just let him get away with what he did.”

 

“I think your anger is very justified, but there might be better ways we can deal with strong emotions like that. Let’s talk about these feelings a little more…”

 

 

Catelyn comes in at the end of the session to sit down with Arya and Jaqen. She doesn’t know what she expected, half of her thought Arya would storm back into the waiting room after ten minutes and vow against the entire field of psychology. Then again, Jaqen H’ghar is highly recommended working with young adults. which Cat supposes Arya is one of those now. The thought of her youngest daughter almost an adult is enough for Cat to wish there was a glass of wine nearby.

 

She finds her daughter and Jaqen sitting on opposing couches looking relaxed. She joins Arya and can’t help but ask: “How did it go?”

 

“Good.” Arya almost smiles. Catelyn resists the urge to punch the air and settles with a one-armed hug around her shoulders.

 

“You have a wonderful child here, Mrs Stark. You should be very proud of her.”

 

“I am.” Catelyn watches Arya blush and look away. “Please, you can call me Catelyn.”

 

“We’ve talked a little today about how Arya is feeling and if you are amicable, we’d like to meet for a few more sessions.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“We also would like to have a quick chat about what we talked about today.” Jaqen nods to Arya.

 

She fiddles with a belt loop on her jeans before turning to look at Catelyn.

 

“Well, there have been some boys at school. They’ve have been, sort of, bullying me.”

 

Catelyn feels her heart drop like an anvil. Arya’s face is blank, but her eyes keep darting around the room. A thousand questions race through Cat’s head. _How long has this been going on? How could I let this happen? Have they hurt her? Why didn’t I notice something was wrong? Who are they? How many? What is the quickest course of action to contact the scho-_

“Arya, why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“I didn’t want you to make a big deal out of it.” She groans. “I thought I could handle it.”

 

“It _is_ a big deal.”

 

“I didn’t want you getting mad about it.”

 

“I’m not mad. I’m just…Well, maybe I am a bit mad, but I’m not mad at you. It’s only because I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

 

“We’ve talked today about how we can deal with this and I have some ideas for you Catelyn about contacting school, so they are made aware of the situation.” Jaqen interjects.

 

“Is this why you’ve been so upset lately?” Cat asks Arya. She thinks back to last Saturday with a pang of guilt. How could she not have seen?

 

“Sort of. I don’t like seeing people get pushed around.”

 

Cat is reminded so much of Ned in that moment. He went to law school because he wanted to make a difference. He spoke so much about how he wanted to fight for those who couldn’t and its part of what made Cat fall in love with him. That conviction, that determination, she knows how much of it lives on in their children. Even when Arya couldn’t stand up for herself, she tried to do so for others.

 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you sooner.” Cat says, pulling her into another tighter hug.

 

 

 

Friday afternoon comes with a flurry of excitement as the last school bell of the day rings. Sansa leaves her geography class to see Margaery already waiting for her at her locker. She’s leaning up against the wall with her bag on one shoulder and her white blouse rolled up to her elbows.

 

“Hey shortie.” Margaery grins, like Sansa isn’t several inches taller than her.

 

“You all set?” Sansa opens the padlock of her locker and pulls out her bag and coat.

“Ready when you are.” She bounces on her toes, fluffy ponytail swinging to the rhythm. There’s a competition tomorrow and they must leave early, so Margaery is sleeping over tonight. Sansa finally gets to come good on her invitation for a family dinner.

 

They pull on their coats before they reach the main entrance where the crisp November air greets them. It’s said to snow next week. Out by the front gate Sansa finds Arya and Rickon waiting. Arya has a blue beanie pulled down over her ears, clashing loudly with her bright orange winter coat. The sleeves are getting short on her, she’ll need a new jacket soon.

 

“Hey guys!” Margaery smiles. She’s heard all about Sansa’s family, but she has yet to properly meet them. “You must be Arya and Rickon.”

 

“Hey.” Arya says, removing an earbud. “The next bus leaves in five.”

 

Sansa leads the group down the road to the bus that takes them home each afternoon. The fifteen-minute trip drops them a street away from the Stark household. The old, three-story house is nestled at the end of a cul-de-sac and backs onto a thin section of woods.

 

“Oh wow,” Margaery gasps as they walk down White Street. “Your house is beautiful.”

 

Sansa would never boast about it, but she’s always loved her home. The front the handsome wooden building is painted dove grey, with white lining the windowsills and the double front doors. In winter, the house almost disappears among the snow. The first two stories are complete floors, with the third a smaller space between the slanting A-frame roof. Sansa can’t remember the dates, but the original building is around a hundred years old. As the Stark family grew, Ned oversaw renovations and additions towards the back of the house as not to break the front silhouette.

 

As they approach the front gate, three furry outlines appear from the garden. The biggest and darkest one starts barking and the others join in. Sansa sighs, hoping they won’t get too wound up before they meet Margaery. She has warned her about the large dogs they own, and Margaery said she didn’t mind.

 

They start to jostle each other when Sansa approaches the gate. Without Grey Wind around the rest of the pack is a little less organised. Robb picked him up last weekend now that they’re renting a little house with enough of an enclosed yard to keep Grey Wind happy.

 

“Oh, look at them!” Margaery runs up to the gate and sticks her hand through the bars. Nymeria and Shaggy lick her hand while Lady paces and waits for the gate to be open. “They’re so big.”

 

As Sansa opens the gate, she keeps the pack from racing out onto the street with a leg pushing them back. She slides through the gap and the rest follow. Before Sansa can shut the gate behind them, Shaggy Dog and Nymeria are jumping up to Margaery. Thankfully they don’t bowl her over and she doesn’t seem to mind them licking her face.

 

“That’s Shaggy Dog and Nymeria.” Sansa says when the two calm down long enough for Sansa to get Margaery’s attention. “And this is my dog, Lady.”

 

Sansa pats her leg and Lady trots over, tailing whipping around in excitement. Where Shaggy is dark fur and Nymeria has more grey in her coat, Lady is lighter in colour. Her white fur is pointed with mottled grey and honey brown. She’s the smallest of her litter, but now an adult Lady is still quite large. What she has over her litter mates is more control, as she approaches Sansa and Margaery, she’s doesn’t jump. She sniffs Margaery’s hand delicately and thumps her tail against Sansa’s leg.

“She’s so sweet.” Margaery smiles.

 

They walk up the drive-way to the front door. Catelyn and Bran are already home, and the door is unlocked in wait for them. The front door opens to the mudroom where they all take off their shoes and hang up their jackets. The dogs follow them inside, running down the hallway before Sansa can check their likely muddy paws.

 

It’s delightfully warm inside, Sansa wonders if they’ll put on the fireplace tonight. Adjacent to the entrance is the sitting room, with a little sofa that overlooks the large window facing the front yard. Sansa gives Margaery a tour of the first floor as they make their way along the hallway. To the right is the garage, then continuing down it opens into a large living space. There’s the dining table on the far-right side of the open-plan area, the kitchen to the left and at the far end the couch and TV set mounted on the wall.

 

Catelyn and Bran are seated at the dining table, snacking from a platter of fruit and looking over his homework. The two look up as they hear Nymeria, Lady, and Shaggy Dog herald their coming.

 

“What’s for dinner?” Rickon asks in way of a greeting. He trudges over to the kitchen and sticks his curly head in the fridge.

 

“We’ve got fruit, you don’t need to get anything else out.” Cat says hoping in vain for once to convince Rickon to eat something healthy. She stands up and makes her way to Sansa and Margaery.

 

“Margaery, this is my mum and over there is Bran.” Sansa says. Bran doesn’t look up from his homework but shoots his hand up in the air in a lazy wave.

 

“Hi Mrs Stark. It’s so nice to meet you, you have a lovely home.” Margaery crosses her arms behind her back.

 

“Please, you can call me Catelyn. Has Sansa been showing you around?”

 

“Yes, we’re on the grand tour right now.” Margaery smiles. Just quietly, Catelyn is quite impressed with the girl’s manners.

 

“Is it alright if we take some food up to my room? Marg and I are working on a history project.”

 

“Just don’t spill anything on the bed.” Cat warns, shuddering at the memory of the many times Rickon has stained sheets with all manner of things. Sansa grabs handfuls of cut up strawberries and apples into a Tupperware container and shows Margaery the way upstairs.

 

“Oh wow, you have an elevator?” Margaery peaks at the device built in next to the staircase.

 

“It goes up to the second floor. It’s pretty slow, nothing fancy.” Sansa explains as they climb the stairs. Ned had added it to the renovation plan when they redid the first floor to be accessible for Bran. They remade Ned’s old office into a bedroom and en suite as it wasn’t convenient anymore to have Bran’s room upstairs. They didn’t use the elevator much, but it is still useful when the occasion arose Bran needed to be up there.

 

The second floor has Sansa, Arya and Rickon’s rooms, along with the master bedroom. Robb and Theon’s old room has been changed into a guest room and there’s a little office space where Cat sometimes works. The single room upstairs used to be Jon’s before he moved out. Now it’s mostly storage and Sansa doesn’t see a need to show Margaery up there.

 

They set themselves up in Sansa’s room, sprawling food and textbooks along the carpet. Sansa’s desk is piled high with laundry for now, so she sits on the floor with her laptop as Lady rests her head on her leg. Beside her, Margaery grumbles between mouthfuls of strawberries.

 

“Still on your history assignment?”

 

“I haven’t gotten past the outline. I never realised how much I don’t know about the North.”

 

“Which topic did you choose?”

 

“Northern independence and border dispute.” She mumbles. “Teacher said I need to include a paragraph on the relationship between the Wildlands and the North, a topic I know literally nothing about.”

 

Sansa nods, wondering what the curriculum is like in the south. Margaery looks to her with pleading eyes.

 

“Sansa you’re so smart, I need a crash course.”

 

She considers for a moment. How to explain a thousand years of turmoil and conflict quickly and delicately? For most of Sansa’s life the relationship between the two bordering countries has been peaceful, but from generation to generation tensions rise and fall.

 

“Thousands of years before conquest the first men were all the same people living in the North. It’s complicated but basically the first kings wanted to separate their lands from the groups of nomadic people. Bran the builder built the great wall across all the North basically cutting off all the valuable farming land and declared those living on the other side wildlings. Flash forward through hundreds of years of fighting to two hundred years ago when the peace was finally settled under a treaty. Most of the wall was pulled down and the Wildlands became its own official country.”

 

Margaery buries her head in her hands. “That’s the short version?”

 

“I’ll send you a link to a Wikipedia page.” She offers.

 

Their attention quickly moves away from unimportant things like school work to browsing make up tutorials for their next competition. Margaery found one that used flashy gold eye liner, but it looks quite complex.

 

“I could always practice on you first.”

 

“I don’t think gold is my colour.” Sansa declines.

 

“What about your sister?”

 

Sansa bursts out laughing. “You couldn’t pay her to come with ten feet of a makeup brush.”

 

“What about your brothers? I think I still have some chocolate in my bag we could bribe them with.”

 

“They’d never.” Sansa smiles, imagining their horror.

 

“Shame, sometimes Loras would let me put some on him.”

 

“Really?” It’s not that Sansa is judgemental of that sort of thing, she’s just surprised. Loras was so cool when she met him, and it was clear how much he loves his sister.

 

“Willas would too if I annoyed him enough, it was only Garlan who’d run away from me. I don’t have any sisters, so I made do.”

 

“Right,” Sansa can’t think of any times Arya has showed an interest in makeup. When they were younger Sansa would braid Arya’s hair but there’s no chance of that now that she’s cut it all off.

 

Cat eventually calls them down for dinner. In the kitchen they are met with steaming plates of grilled salmon and asparagus.

 

“Eat up you two,” Cat tells them. “You have a big day tomorrow.”

 

By the time they take their plates to the table, Rickon and Bran are halfway through shovelling down their meals. Cat watches them as sighs, wishing they’d take time to chew. It had been the same with Jon, Robb and Theon as they hit their teenage years. She still doesn’t know how she managed to keep the fridge stocked with them around.

 

“This is delicious, Catelyn.” Margaery says after swallowing.

 

“Thank you, it’s just something simple for a Friday night. Bran, eat your broccoli.”

 

Bran looks over to give his mother a withering look. “Ew.”

 

“You don’t like broccoli? But it’s so good!” Margaery says, taking a bite to prove it.

 

“Sansa, your friend is weird.” Bran says, which leaves Arya giggling. To her credit, Margaery laughs too.

 

“That is no way to treat a guest.” Cat says as she nudges Arya in the side.

 

“It’s alright, I am. My family owns a lot of farmland, so one day Dad took me to a broccoli farm when I was little, and I fell asleep right in the middle of the field. I think I imprinted on it.”

 

Sansa can’t stop herself laughing. “What?”

 

“I was a really, really, weird kid.”

 

It’s hard for Sansa to imagine. In her head Margaery has always been so cool and charming, like she came into the world one day batting her eyelashes and making everyone smitten.

 

“Well you’ll fit in with this lot of weirdos.” Sansa nods to her dearest younger siblings.

 

Cat leaves her children to bicker and tries to enjoy the rest of her meal in blissful ignorance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. i really wasn't expecting to get 30k into writing this and not be anywhere near done. I promise that the Cat/Brienne plot will heat up soon if any of u still remember that this was originally what the fic was meant to be about. 
> 
> how many more of these characters will i force to talk about their feelings and go to therapy before this is through? place you bets now


	13. Winter Interlude

She knows it’s a little old-fashioned but there is something so satisfying about dropping the stack of envelopes into the post box. She handwrote each invitation of a white piece of card. It’s only the beginning of November, but Catelyn needs to be organised. It’s looking to be a large crowd for the Solstice party and the quicker she gets RSVPs the better.

 

It’s set to be an interesting guest list this year. For starters Theon is bringing his sister over from Pyke, Jon has finally wrangled Ygritte into coming as well as the promise to bring along his aunt Daenerys. Lyanna said she is fine with it, so Cat didn’t press the matter further. She never really knew Rhaegar, but all that she’s heard painted a very poor picture of him. Jon can be a little naïve at times, and perhaps a little too quick to trust people, but he’s not a boy anymore. If Jon says Daenerys is alright then Cat will have to take his word for it.

 

The house is set to be overrun with Starks with the addition of Benjen, Lyanna, and Lyarra. After Rickard passed the spry old woman had moved into a retirement village out of the city. Despite being well into her seventies she kept busy most days with pottery, walking and Tai Chi with her neighbours. She’d made no sign of slowing down yet. In the school holidays Cat would often drive the kids up there to visit her and stay a few days.

 

She doesn’t think Lysa or Edmure will be able to make it, but she sent them a card anyway. The last thing she needed is for Lysa to take offense over an offer she was sure to refuse. She never did like the North anyway. Cat will admit she wasn’t a fan at first, the snowfall seemed magical, but she soon grew sick of it. Even shovelling driveways and heavy water-proof boots grew on her eventually.

 

Of course, it snowed in the Eyrie, not that Lysa had stuck around much to see it. She would spend winter somewhere south and warm, insisting it would be better for Robin not to catch another cold. Edmure on the other hand, would stay in Riverrun with his fiancé. Apparently, he had plans to finally get on his father-in-law’s good side over Solstice, but Catelyn wasn’t sure he was up to the task. She wasn’t about to get in the way by telling him that.

 

Her siblings aside, if everyone else accepted the invitation she’d be looking at upwards of fifteen seats at the dinner table. She has even started planning out dinner, surely a leg of ham and a whole turkey would be enough to feed them all. Benjen, Lyarra, Robb and Jeyne will at least help out with cooking it all. She wonders if Benjen is still on his vegan or paleo or whatever diet he’d done recently. It’s hard to keep track of them all.

 

Her upstairs desk is now overflowing with Jaime Oliver and Nigella Lawson books, so she’s had to retreat to the reading nook downstairs to get any non-solstice work done. She’s sitting with her laptop and a mug of peppermint tea when Bran appears in the doorway with a small stack of paper on his lap.

 

“Hey mum.” He says as he enters the room. Cat looks up and watches him bite his lip, deep in thought.

 

“What’s up, dear?”

 

“They’re doing a sled hockey workshop at the Winter Festival.” He reaches over to pat Summer as he sniffs at the mug of tea Cat is holding.

 

“I hadn’t heard about that. Did you want to try it out?”

 

“Jojen and I were thinking about it.”

“I’ll sign you up if that’s what you want. I didn’t know you were interested in playing hockey again.”

 

“I haven’t really thought about it before now.”

 

Bran had played a little bit before the accident, but he’d never been as crazy about the sport as Robb and Jon had been at that age. Once he started recovering from his spinal cord injury, he didn’t talk about missing hockey. As he grew Bran kept himself busy with video games and horror movies. He has friends and is happy, so Cat never felt the need to push Bran into taking up more activities. But if Bran wants to try something a bit more active, she certainly won’t complain.

 

Dinner that night, she has to remind Sansa not to have her phone at the table. She looks up in a daze, a frown still etched on her face. She quickly switches her phone off and sets it down on the table.

 

“Sorry.” She says quietly. Sansa looks down at her plate and pokes at her dinner with a fork.

 

“Is everything alright?” Cat asks.

 

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Nervous about my next comp, I guess.”

 

Arya rolls her eyes. “That’s ages away.”

 

“ _You_ perfect a double axel in four weeks then.”

 

“Girls, please.” Cat sighs. Rickon and Bran stifle their giggles, some help they are. Cat fails to see what they find so entertaining about their sisters’ petty spats. “From what I hear, Arya, you might be in the same boat.”

 

“Huh?” She says, chewing with her mouth open.

 

“Cassel told me the other day your team might have a real shot playing at the outdoor game.”

 

“They probably just want to choose us because we’re girls, so they’ll look good including us.”

 

Cat wonders just when her daughter had gotten so cynical.

 

“Aren’t you guys second in the league?” Bran points out.

 

“Second,” Arya mutters. “Is the first to lose.”

 

Cat doesn’t even know where to begin with that.

 

“That’s not right. Last is _first_ to lose. Then second last is second that’s how it works.” Rickon chimes in.

 

“That’s a pretty good point.” Says Bran.

 

“May I please be excused?” Sansa stands up with a suddenly empty plate in hand. Sometime between this conversation she must have finished.

 

“Alright.” Cat usually prefers everyone to sit down and eat together, but she can tell something is bothering Sansa. She mustn’t be ready to talk about it yet, but perhaps if she has a little time to herself, she’ll come around.

 

Sansa snatches up her phone and takes her plate to the kitchen to drop it in the dishwasher. When she’s safely up the stairs and out of sight she switches it back on and deletes the messages from an unknown number. She blocks the number too, just to be sure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The last game before the Solstice break and Jaime is crushed against the boards like an empty soda can. Brienne winces on the bench at the crunching sound and a whistle is blown to stop play. Bronn helps Jaime off the ice, heavily favouring his right leg. He limps down the walkway towards the locker room and doesn’t come back out before the period ends.

 

Brienne doesn’t need telling, she finds the guy who drove Jaime into the boards and takes care of things. On her third punch she feels the zing as her knuckles split when they graze against a tooth. For a second, she’s surprised, she hasn’t split the now calloused skin in a while. She’s ejected from the game with little ceremony and spends the rest of the game with Jaime in the training room with her hands in a bucket of ice.

 

They lose the game by three goals, but no one other than Pod seems too upset. She carries Jaime’s bags out to car while he hobbles to the passenger seat in a knee brace. He doesn’t need crutches thankfully. They pass the drive home in silence until Jaime looks over and hisses at the sight of Brienne’s hands on the steering wheel.

 

“Who did you fight, a bear?”

 

Brienne shrugs. He’d been tall, bearded and genuinely quite unpleasant. She supposed it wasn’t too far off.

 

“Well, with my leg like this, I have a favour to ask.”

 

“What?”

 

“You know how Tyrion is staying here for Solstice. He flies in tomorrow and I said I’d pick him up.”

 

“What time?” She sighs.

 

She finds herself at Winterfell’s domestic airport at 7:30 on a Sunday morning standing at the arrivals gate next to Jaime who is holding up a piece of paper with ‘ASSHOLE’ written on it in sharpie. Jaime insists it was necessary to grab his brother’s attention. Brienne isn’t sure it’s worth the dirty looks the other people waiting throw their way. Brienne slouches down further beneath the collar of her jacket and prays to the old gods and new no one with recognise Jaime.

 

Mercifully, Tyrion appears from behind a pair of automatic glass doors with a sleek chrome suitcase in tow behind him. His black and green eyes scan the crowd for a moment before he spots Jaime’s sign. He looks up at Jaime and grins.

“What’s up, you motherfucker.” Tyrion says as he pulls his brother in for a hug.

 

“Hey, hey, watch the knee!” He winces.

 

“You look like shit.” Tyrion smiles, taking in his Jaime’s tired face and the beard he hasn’t shaved in ages.

 

“Oh, thanks.”

 

“Tarth! Good to see you.” Tyrion turns and shakes her hand. His grip is firm, but he doesn’t press on her bruised knuckles.

 

“You too.” Brienne says with a small smile.

 

Their apartment doesn’t have a spare guest room, but Tyrion insists he’s happy on the pull-out couch. With his brother set up on the couch, it means Jaime isn’t allowed to mope there. Jaime isn’t one for persistent moping, but Brienne knows his knee is bothering him. At least Tyrion is there to cheer him up when she goes away out for work or to train.

 

Her security work has been going steady and she’s even gotten more gigs lined up for the solstice, but coaching is still a huge commitment. A commitment made much greater when Cassel informed her last week the girls’ under fourteen Howlers have been chosen to play during the intermission of the Winterfell Wights game. She told the team at practice the previous Tuesday as they handed out parent permission forms. The girls had been ecstatic, even Arya had cracked a smile.

 

 Tyrion must have heard it from Jaime and now he’s begging to interview her.

 

“Come on, Jaime and I are recording an episode of my podcast here anyway, you might as well.”

 

“You’re recording it here?” She folds her arms.

 

“I edit it myself too, you know. I can cut out any of the shit bits before I upload it.”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Brienne,” Tyrion’s playful demeanour drops for a moment. “You’re the first woman to play in three separate men’s leagues. You’ve been playing up here for months and haven’t given a single interview. People want to know your story.”

 

“I’m not very good with words.” She looks down at her feet. She doesn’t believe Tyrion’s story, that people have any interest in what she might have to say. She’s a short-term gimmick, once they get over the fact there isn’t a dick between her legs people soon lose interest.

 

“Look, if it turns out shit, I’ll delete the recording no problem. But I think you’ll surprise yourself.”

 

She looks at Jaime, who nods.

 

“Just this once.” She says and Tyrion pumps his fist in the air and high fives his brother.

 

That night they sit around the living room with all the recording equipment Tyrion could fit in his suitcase cobbled together on coffee table. Brienne sits on Jaime’s left side, Tyrion on his right, all huddled together over one microphone.

 

“Hello and welcome back to the _Offside Review,_ Westeros’s premier sports podcast. As always, I am your host Tyrion Lannister joined here today in Winterfell with two special guests. The first is a bit of a squid to be honest, its only nepotism he managed to get on this show.”

 

“Hey,” Jaime pouts.

 

“He’s only won three WHL MVP awards, total dud. But our second guest is the real deal, dear listeners. We’ve had our fair share of bullies and enforcers on the show before, but we are in the presence of a legend, and her Hockeyfights.com page speaks for itself. If you haven’t guessed already or read the show notes in the description like a cheater, we are joined today with the first female player in the NMHL, Brienne Tarth!”

 

Jaime and Tyrion let out a small cheer. Brienne swallows and leans towards the mic.

 

“Uh, hi.” Brienne wonders to herself for the first time if her voice sounds horrible.

 

Tyrion carries on his witty banter with Jaime occasionally tossing questions her way. His antics are so ridiculous she manages to forget her worries. It’s only when Tyrion stops the recording an hour and many beers later that the butterflies in Brienne’s stomach return.

 

“I can’t believe I did that.” She says, mortified.

 

“You did great.” Jaime encourages from where he’s lying on the floor with his leg elevated on a pillow.

 

“Brienne, you’re _funny._ My listeners are going to love you.”

 

It isn’t just the alcohol that makes Brienne’s cheeks blush. She isn’t sure what to think of people listening to her interview and deciding to like her. She just spent the last hour recounting her most bloody hockey fights. She knows from experience that isn’t going to appeal to everyone, but its not like she’s ever planned to. Sometimes, when people hear she’s a female athlete they tell her what an inspiration she is, and how she inspires the next generation. Inspires them to do what exactly?

 

She remembers Tyrion asking her who was her first fight.

 

“Ever? Not just hockey?” Brienne looked down at the blinking record button. “I don’t think that’s something to say on air.”

 

“It’s a secret? That just makes me want to hear it more.” Jaime complained.

 

Her first real fight, with fists, was a long time ago. She was fifteen and on an all boy’s high school team. By then she was used to the chirps and names she was called on the ice. She didn’t care what they whispered about her in school either. She always knew she was ugly, it didn’t hurt to hear anymore. At fifteen she was already 5’10 and still growing. Each school day she shoved her legs into baggy denim jeans and wore long flannel shirts under hoodies and jackets. She hid her pimply face and cropped hair under beanies and baseball caps. Even her own team mates would laugh at her, but there was a quiet understanding that she was still a part of the team. She was good at hockey, none of them could deny that.

 

None of them stood up for her when the boys on other teams called her names, but she insisted she didn’t mind. She could handle it herself. What mattered was her team mates tolerated her. So, they played the occasional prank on her, but that was part of the game. She pretended to laugh when they filled her locker with shaving cream, or when they put tape over her skate blades. It was just a joke.

 

At the age of fifteen, ‘too far’ wasn’t in their vocabulary. There are many other words too, Brienne hadn’t known at the time. Brienne never cared for words. It was the actions that really mattered. Like the girl who would sit next to her in class. Sometimes they’d share a smile or two. One lunch she even sat next to Brienne and they got to talking. She was the sister of Kieran, one of the seniors on the team. Sometimes they talked about hockey, but mostly they’d talk about anything else. Brienne felt for a moment like she might have a friend. Not just any friend, this girl was popular too. If she started hanging out with her, maybe other people would think Brienne was cool too.

 

One day, she walks up to this girl between classes and asks if she’d like to hang out after school. Brienne wasn’t from a rich family, but she’d saved up some money and there was an arcade nearby. They could grab milkshakes or fries or something. The girl turns away from the friends she was with, looks at Brienne and laughs at her.

 

_Uh, no._ She says when she’s done.

 

_Oh, okay. Maybe some other time?_ Maybe she just doesn’t get the joke yet.

 

_You realise I was just talking to you for a joke, right? Kieran thought it would be funny._

_What?_

_It kind of was funny. But seriously, hanging out with you would ruin my reputation._

Brienne had found Kieran easily enough in the halls of before class. He wasn’t particularly tall, or strong either. She pushed him up against his locker without even thinking.

 

_Why did you do that?_

_Dude, it was just a joke._ He had shoved her away, looking nervously at the crowd that was forming around them at the sound of the commotion.

 

_It wasn’t funny._ Brienne tried to hard not to let the tears fall from her eyes. Her vision blurred for a moment, but she stood resolute.

 

_What? Did you really think anyone would want to hang out with a dyke like you?_

Brienne hit him. And then she hit him again. When he was on the floor, she didn’t stop. At fifteen years old, she didn’t know what that word meant. She’d been called it before, but never by a team mate. She’d broken her hand in that first fight and her knuckles had bled. She was expelled before her father had been called to pick her up from the nurse’s office.

 

She was enrolled in another school with a girl’s hockey team. They’d been hesitant to take her, but her father pulled some strings. She didn’t stop beating up the boys in school who made fun of her. Eventually, after the third fracture, he gave up and taught his daughter how to properly throw a punch. It was funny, all these years later she couldn’t even remember that girl’s name, but she remembered her brother’s.

 

“Maybe another time.” She tells them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, I know it's been a while but I had uni and work and tbh I burnt myself out writing. But I'm back for now with a little interlude chapter before we get to the solstice stuff! I promise there's a point to all this!
> 
> Also GRRM why is there literally no info on Lyarra Stark??? When did she die did she get to see her grandchildren I want answers sir!

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing better than writing extremely niche shit, even if I am the only one who enjoys it. 
> 
> Ok so for this fic I'm playing around with ages here. It's not exact but so far as follows: Cat is in her mid/late 40s, Brienne in her 30s, Robb Jon and Theon are all around 20-21, Sansa is 17, Arya is 14, Bran is 13 and Rickon is 9/10. 
> 
> I don't have a lot of time to edit so if you notice any spelling/grammar mistakes pls lmk


End file.
